


283 Kilometres

by SophroniaMiko



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Beware Donnel's bad grammar, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Short Chapters, Vignettes, so much pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-03
Updated: 2017-06-11
Packaged: 2018-08-28 18:47:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 23,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8458891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SophroniaMiko/pseuds/SophroniaMiko
Summary: 283 kilometres; the distance from me to youDonnel and Maribelle's troublesome relationship told in short vignettes.





	1. I

**Part I**

“We just can’t seem to stop picking up detritus, can we?” Maribelle asked, looking the newest Shepherd up and down like a prize pony.

Lissa gasped. “Maribelle!”

The troubadour flipped her hair off her shoulder petulantly. “ _Tch_. It was bad enough having _him_ around,” she said, pointing at Vaike with her parasol. Vaike paid no attention; he was trying to belch his own name. “And then we picked up this gem,” the parasol tip moved to point at Robin, who sighed. “But what, pray tell, is this?”

“M’name’s Donny, ma’am. Short for Donnel. Your Majestyful here offered me a place in your group after savin’ my hide down in the village. Pleased to meet you!” He stuck his hand out towards her.

She eyed the calloused hand like it was a large spider. “Yes, yes, pleasure, I’m sure.”

Seconds ticked by and Donnel’s hand dropped when he realized the woman had no intention of shaking it. His face flushed under his copper pot and he seemed to withdraw into himself a little. Robin stepped forward, breaking the tension. “Yes, this is our new recruit. He’s going to be a fine addition to the Shepherds. You have a lot of potential, Donnel, and we’re glad to have you!”

Wind returned to the former farmhand’s sails and he grinned, causing his pot to slip down slightly over his left ear. “Thank ya kindly, Robin, sir.”

Robin clapped him warmly on the shoulder, then turned and motioned to Chrom, who followed him towards the War Council tent. The rest of the Shepherds slowly dispersed as well. Maribelle tucked her parasol under her arm and proffered her elbow to Lissa. “Come, my pet. My, but you are muddy from that battle! I have tea brewing. I’ll pour you a hot cup after you wash up.” Lissa laughed and took her arm, resisting the urge to dab fresh mud on her best friend’s perfectly scrubbed nose. “What in the… _no_ , Vaike, I _don’t_ want you to try to burp my name…go take a bath or lift logs or something! I declare, what occupies the space in your skull? This way, Lissa, to fresher air.”

Their voices faded, leaving Donnel alone to try and scrape dirt off of his own rough-spun tunic.

oOoOoOo

“We’ve spotted a large group of Risen heading towards a village just north of camp,” Chrom called to the Shepherds, who were finishing preparations to march. “We’re going to clear them out before continuing on the path Robin has plotted.” He nodded to the tactician standing beside him. “Leave all the supplies behind except your weapons and vulneraries; we will come back to this campsite tonight.” He sighed and lowered his voice. “Unless we’re dead, that is.”

Robin patted his shoulder. “That’s the spirit! Pessimism—keep that up and you’ll never be disappointed!” He tugged on his overcoat and tucked a tome under his arm, then cupped his hands around his mouth. “I’ll be coming around to give you all battle orders! Don’t leave until I’ve talked to you!”

Lissa was quavering as she strapped an extra Heal staff to her belt. “This must be a pretty big bunch of Risen if we need two healers…usually Robin only takes one of us.”

“Not to worry, darling,” Maribelle replied, tightening her mare’s flank cinch. “I’ll keep an eye on you.” _Not to mention Robin certainly will as well_ , she thought irritably.

As if summoned by her musings, the tactician approached the two from the other side of the horse. “Ah, here you two are. I’ve got your marching orders. Lissa, you’re going to be sticking close to Chrom and I during this battle. Stahl and Sully will be covering your back, so don’t worry about that.” Lissa nodded, bobbing her pigtails. “As for you, Maribelle, you’re—Vaike? What is it?”

He stopped, interrupted by the appearance of the burly fighter, who was gritting his teeth. “Say, Rob, have you seen an axe lying around here anywhere? I swear I _just_ had it…”

“No, and if you haven’t found it by the time we march I’m leaving you here.” Robin replied. “Then when we get back I’m going to tie that axe to your head with rope. Maybe you’ll stop losing it!”

Vaike narrowed his eyes, unsure whether or not Robin meant what he said. He decided not to chance it and hurried away to continue searching the ground. The tactician shook his head and turned back to the healers. “Anyway, Maribelle, you will be partnered with Donnel here from now on. He’s your new project.” He reached out and pulled the farm boy into view from where he had been hiding behind Maribelle’s horse.

“What?” Maribelle protested, aghast. “Why me? I know nothing of training fighters.”

“I’ve seen you giving tips on the battlefield and I know you read my books when I’m not looking. You’ll do fine. Besides, you’re the only one who can use Mend right now, and seeing as how this is only Donnel’s second battle, he might be needing it.” Donnel gulped, but Robin pushed him towards the troubadour. “I expect great things from this pair.”

Maribelle opened her mouth to argue further, but Robin was already leading Lissa towards Chrom. She turned back to Donnel, who was shifting his weight nervously from one foot to the other. “I know it ain’t no fun bein’ stuck with me, but I’ll sure do my best, Miss.” He said earnestly, meeting her eyes.

“Too right you shall. We’ll just…for heaven’s sake, you’re holding your spear the wrong way! How were you planning on defeating the enemy with the blunt end?”

Donnel flushed and flipped the spear around in his hands. “Shucks, I just thought I’d bop ‘em on the head real good.”

Maribelle slowly turned around and yelled at the tactician’s back in a strangled sort of voice. “Did you hear that, Robin? He was going to ‘bop ‘em on the head real good’! Robin!”

“Sounds good, Donnel!” Robin hollered back, giving the farmhand a thumbs-up. “Good luck you two!”

Donnel waved back happily. “He sure is smart, ain’t he?”

 _Ah, so that’s it. This is Robin’s revenge for me keeping him away from Lissa. I see now_. Maribelle groaned in a decidedly unladylike manner and leaned her head against her horse’s flank. “Pardon, Maribelle?” A voice spoke beside her and she pulled away to see Miriel glowering and holding an enormous axe. “Would you happen to know who left this weapon so carelessly in the meal tent? I would have words with them.”

“That would be Vaike,” Maribelle replied, pointing towards the bathing tents. “He went that way.”

“Thank you.” Miriel hoisted the axe up again and stomped away.

Maribelle watched her go, then turned back to Donnel. “Well, you’re certainly not the _least_ intelligent specimen in this army. That ought to cheer us both up. Come now, help me on my horse.”

Unlike last time, she now took his extended hand and pressed it as she hoisted herself into the saddle. His hand was rough but warm. “You’re shaking.” she observed.

“Just some pre-battle jitters. I’m fine!” He said, though he looked anything but. “Don’t you worry none. I’ll protect you from them scary monsters.”

Maribelle released his hand, skepticism written clearly on her face. “See that you do.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really like this pairing. Thank you for beginning this small journey with me!
> 
> Short chapters are much easier to write in grad school xD


	2. II

**Part II**

**"** Yer gonna catch flies if you keep hangin’ yer mouth open like that.” Donnel said, grinning.

Maribelle snapped her mouth shut and scowled. “There’s simply no way you memorized that entire book in two weeks. It’s impossible.” Her fingers tightened around the Ylissean law tome—a gift from her father. “Even I haven’t…that is to say…quite frankly I’m dumbfounded.”

Donnel shrugged. “I worked real hard on it like I promised ya an’ I’ve always been good at puttin’ stuff to memory. Ma says it’s ‘cuz my head is so empty there’s room for all manner of nonsense.” All the same, he looked pleased with himself. He’d passed her oral quiz and had even recited the ladder of escalation for livestock disputes.

“Quite the contrary, Donnel,” Maribelle replied, looking at the farmhand in a completely new light. “Your head is far from empty, I assure you. It’s full of brain and we are going to fill it even further. What manner of education have you received?”

“Education?” Donnel grimaced. “Weren’t much to be had in the village, ‘sides readin’ and cipherin’ and the like. Certainly weren’t none of this fancy law stuff.”

Clucking her tongue, Maribelle turned her back to him and knelt, opening a large wooden trunk. She hadn’t been sure that summoning her new partner to her tent was entirely proper, but now she was glad that she had; it would have been a hassle to carry everything across camp. Donnel watched her pull out book after book and resisted the urge to reach out and touch her curls. Her hair astounded him—it was like nothing he’d ever seen on any girl in the village or even on his few trips into town. Every curl was perfectly formed, the color of ripe, golden wheat, and brushed to a burnished shine. “What are you looking at?” She had turned her head and interrupted his thoughts.

“N-nothin’, ma’am. Er, you sure got a lot of books, there.”

She stood up, a pile of books in her arms. “Arms out.” One by one she plopped them in his outstretched arms. “This one is about swordsmanship. I bought it from a traveling saleswoman two years ago. This one is about basic first aid and life support. You may not be a healer, but it never hurts to know the fundamentals. _These_ three are the ones you should read first. They will lay the foundation for your rise into society.”

“Society?” He picked up the topmost book and read the cover. “Etiquette and Protocol for…this ain’t gonna help me be a better soldier!”

“No, but it will help you be a better man and that’s more important.” She pulled one final object out of her trunk—a small black case. It opened to reveal a well-polished instrument. “Do you know what this is?”

Donnel nodded, glad to finally be back to something he knew. “That there’s a fiddle.”

“No, it’s a _violin_.”

“It’s fer certain a fiddle, ma’am.”

“I know what it is and it’s a violin. And stop calling me ma’am. From now on we are partners and…equals, I suppose.” Donnel wisely chose to stop arguing his point, even though he still thought she was wrong. Maribelle took his silence as acknowledgement of her rightness and continued. “Do you know how to play?”

“Sure do, though I ain’t no great shakes.”

“Excellent. Put those books down and play me something.”

The violin fit snugly on his shoulder and he twiddled the tuning knobs, plucking the strings as he went. Once he was satisfied, he took the bow in hand, started tapping a beat with his foot, and struck the strings all at once. A jaunty country tune filled the tent. Maribelle stood transfixed; she’d never heard sounds like these coming from her instrument. Donnel played fervently, his left hand nimbly working the fingerboard while his right made the bow dance across the strings. The longer he played, the more he relaxed, closing his eyes and sticking his tongue just the barest bit out of the corner of his mouth. An unfamiliar warmth filled the troubadour as she watched—it was like she could smell hay and hear the creak of barn floors and the crackle of fire on a crisp night.

Then it was over. Maribelle opened her eyes (she hadn’t realized she’d closed them) to find Donnel looking at her and grinning ear to ear. “That’s a song we play in my village when people get hitched. How’d ya like it?” His chest moved up and down rapidly; he was out of breath from the vigorousness with which he played.

“I-I’m not sure that counted as _music_ , at least none that I’m familiar with…” Maribelle was loth to compliment him, but couldn’t lie and say she didn’t enjoy it.

The smile faded on Donnel’s face. “I guess you’re used to fancier music, huh? Bein’ a proper lady an’ all.” He quickly put the instrument back in the case and picked up his books. “I’ll go start readin’ these now.”

Maribelle reached out and grabbed his sleeve, then pulled her hand back as if shocked with electricity. “Ah, maybe…maybe you could teach me how to play…like that sometime? I could teach you an aria or two in exchange.”

Light returned to the farmhand’s face, illuminating the room. “Sure! Ain’t nothin’ to it. There’s a dance that goes with it, too, I’ll teach that to ya also!”

Maribelle made a face. “I think I’ll pass on that one.”

“It’s tons of fun! Stompin’ and jumpin’ and twirlin’ and all!”

“Maybe another time.”

Donnel laughed. “Alright, I won’t force ya. I’ll be goin’ now. Goodnight, Maribelle!”

“Goodnight, Donnel.” Maribelle replied, closing the tent flap behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maribelle went on to become a connoisseur of rural Ylissean music.


	3. III

**Part III**

“What in Naga’s name were you thinking?” Maribelle’s raised voice attracted the attention of all the Shepherds in the vicinity. They craned their necks, having never heard her swear before. She was making her way towards the medical tent, though her movements were hampered by the lean young man who was using her as a sort of living crutch. The right side of his tunic was soaked with blood and he clearly also had a broken ankle.

When the pair finally reached the tent, she helped him onto a table only slightly more gently than her angry tone suggested. “Sorry, Ma’am, I just…them ruffians was comin’ right at ya and they looked powerful fierce an’ you ain’t got any armor or nothin’…” Donnel said, wincing as a pain shot through his side.

“I don’t care if the mad king Gangrel himself is bearing down upon me from the back of a pegasus!” Maribelle replied tartly. “You don’t go _throwing yourself_ at the enemy. That is _not_ a viable battle strategy.” She turned away from him to rifle through nearby boxes of medical supplies and healing staves. She continued to mutter, but Donnel couldn’t hear what she was saying until she turned back around. “You’re barely proficient with a spear and you haven’t even started to learn the sword yet. What makes you think you think you can take on three foes at once?”

Donnel winced as the troubadour hoisted his leg up on the table. “Figured I had a better shot than you did. I may not be great shakes at spear-fightin’ but at least I can use a weapon. All you got is them healin’ staffs an’ they ain’t gonna help.”

“Have you even been reading the strategy books I gave you?”

“I sure have!” He said, starting to get irritated. “I been readin’ it every night and it says healers are to be protected at all costs. Ya hear that? I’m bein’ yelled at fer followin’ yer own advice! And stop grabbin’ my ankle like you’re birthin’ piglets! That hurts!”

Maribelle paused, bandages in hand, and stared at his damaged leg. She stood unmoving for so long that her patient began to get worried that he’d actually done something irreversibly terrible to his ankle. Finally she put the roll of bandages down on the table and slowly reached for a Mend staff. The tent was silent as she worked, save for the small crackles of Donnel’s bones magically fusing back together. Once the magic had reached its useful limit, she picked the bandages up again and began wrapping the new, pink flesh. Her hands were far softer than before and they trembled slightly. “I’m sorry,” she finally said, sounding both defensive and truly remorseful. “I acknowledge that you were trying your best.”

She gently swung his leg back down off the table. “Try to be gentle walking on it for the next few days. I’ll ask Frederick if you can ride behind him on his horse tomorrow.”

The calm quiet after Donnel’s outburst made him increasingly uncomfortable. He almost regretted what he’d said, but at the same time he felt the words were necessary. He made up his mind to say something to diffuse the tension, but his words were halted by Maribelle’s hands tugging his undershirt up. “H-hey, what’re ya--”

“I have to examine this wound on your side. You’re still dripping blood, or hadn’t you noticed?” Her sharp tone was back, though it was subdued. “Arms up.”

Donnel raised his arms helplessly until his shirt was tugged over his head. It was then that he got his first look at the gash in his side. Rivulets of blood streamed from a particularly deep hole, which was surrounded by flesh that looked almost chewed-on. Looking at it made him feel lightheaded, so he swallowed hard and focused his eyes on the ceiling of the tent. There were little tears in it through which sunlight streamed. If he focused, he could see dust motes dancing in the light. “Does it look as bad as it feels?” He asked lightheartedly.

“The blade that cut you was dull,” She replied, still examining the wound intently. “That’s a blessing and a curse; it if had been sharp it would have gone much deeper, but it caused more blunt damage to your tissues.”

Just then, the tent flap flew open and Lissa burst through the opening. “Maribelle! I heard someone was injured and I came to…oh my god!” She gasped, seeing the farmhand’s torn side. “Donnel, what happened?”

“Ain’t no big deal. Some fellers ambushed us, but I reckon they look worse than I do.” He laughed but stopped abruptly from the pain.

Maribelle clucked her tongue. “Less talking from the injured.” She watched Lissa examine the wound from every angle and then gently nudged her away. “I’ve got this handled, my pet. You should tend to the other injuries in the army.”

Lissa backed away, eyes still glued to Donnel’s injury. “You sure?”

“Positive, darling. I’ve seen much worse.”

The cleric grabbed a Heal stave and opened the tent flap. “I’ll be right over by the mess tent. Let me know if you need me.”

Maribelle thanked her, then turned back to the man on the table and grimaced. “Now, let’s get this bleeding stopped.” She muttered as she worked, but Donnel only half-listened. “Staves will only treat so much damage and they can’t kill bacteria. They do large-scale tissue mending mostly. Because of that, it’s imperative that I clean this thoroughly before using a staff…this won’t feel good but be a good boy and sit still.” She soaked a rag in a cleansing liquid and applied it to the wound. Donnel bit his lip to keep from crying out. “I’ll give you some antibiotic potion after I’m finished. I’ll also give you something for the pain, so bear with it.”

Once the area was clean, she took a staff in hand and ordered him to hold his arm over his head to allow full access to his flank. She popped the magic ball from the staff and began waving it slowly over the gash. Donnel gritted his teeth as the magic worked—it felt like something tiny was buzzing, tingling inside his wound. To distract himself, he watched Maribelle work. Healing was fascinating. She was engrossed in her work, staring intently at his flesh, moving her hands, and softly chanting words he didn’t understand. The bleeding had ceased. His skin and muscles slowly knit themselves together until all that was left was a raw, fiery patch of new skin. “Well I’ll be a buttered biscuit,” he said, marveling at the job she’d done. “You done fixed me up real good!”

“Of course I did.” She popped the healing ball back in a staff and began examining her handiwork.

Donnel’s breath hitched when her slender fingers touched his faintly feverish skin. Her fingers were cold, but they warmed as they skated across his body, checking for holes, tears, or tender spots. Her face drew closer to his side and he could feel her breath against the sensitive new skin. A different tingle shot through his body and he turned his head quickly so as to avoid looking at the healer.

“Everything looks wonderful, as expected. I’m going to give you a bandage to put on it after you bathe and this potion to—my word!” Maribelle reached up and turned Donnel’s face toward her. “Your face is so red! Do you feel feverish?” She laid the back of her hand across his forehead and made a face. “You feel fine to me. Here, just lay still for a moment. Try to sleep if you can.” She put away her materials and headed for the opening of the tent. “I have to talk to Chrom, but I’ll be back. If you need something, Lissa is right outside.”

“Chrom? Am I in trouble?” He asked, partly sitting up.

“Not at all. I’m going to talk to him about my class.”

“Class?”

“Yes. I’m not entirely sure I’m ready, but I need to class up into a Valkyrie.”

“Why?”

“Valkyries are authorized to use weapons. Troubadours are not.”

Donnel still didn’t understand. “What d’ya need a weapon for?” It was hard for him to imagine her delicate hands dealing death.

She turned her back to him so he couldn’t see her face. “So this never happens again.”

There were many things Donnel wanted to say back to her, but he only thought of them once she once gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha it seems I'm alone in my love for Maribelle and Donnel. Such is the life of shipping rarepairs xD To anyone who is reading this, however, thank you :)


	4. IV

**Part IV**

Maribelle was at a loss. All her training, all the etiquette and protocol books she’d read…none of it had prepared her for dealing with a best friend who’d just seen their sister dashed to pieces on the desert ground. The troubadour halted outside Lissa’s tent and looked down unhappily at the tray in her hands. Two cups of tea and three buttered scones were a meager, inadequate offering for such intense suffering.

There was a sob from inside the tent. Lissa was crying again. Maribelle gritted her teeth, steeling herself to see her best friend’s puffy, red face. She reached her hand to the tent flap, then pulled it back sharply when she heard another voice. Who dared disturb her darling in her time of misery? “Shucks, I didn’t mean to turn on the waterworks, yer Highness…I just found these here pansies out in the field an’ I though you might want somethin’ nice to look at and focus on ‘stead of…well, you know.”

Ah…it was Donnel. Maribelle relaxed. He’d brought Lissa flowers…that was very like him. He was always doing small things to help the army, be it snaring animals for provisions or improving the spirits of the camp. Lissa’s voice now filtered through the tent walls. “Thanks, Donny. That’s really sweet of you.” Her voice was small and sad and it broke Maribelle’s heart. At the same time, a small part of her wondered when the cleric had gotten close enough to Donnel to call him by a nickname. What was happening behind her back?

“I-it’s just so h-hard,” Lissa continued. “I…I _saw_ it happen, I _saw_ her fall and I couldn’t do anything…I didn’t do anything! I didn’t even run to her like Chrom did!” Her voice was rising to a feverish pitch. “I couldn’t move, I just covered my eyes and screamed like a coward and—and—“

There were the sound of steps and then the swish of fabric against fabric. “Shhh. Shh.” Lissa’s sobs were muffled now. Maribelle had no idea Donnel could be that bold. “It—it weren’t your fault, Princess. There wasn’t anythin’ you could have done. If you’d run out there you coulda been killed too and that would just be unbearable to all of us, y’know? ‘Specially Maribelle. You know how fond of ya she is an’ all.” At the mention of her name, the troubadour felt a twinge of guilt like she was eavesdropping on something she had no right to hear.

“You’re right, Donny, and I know it.” Lissa’s voice was still muffled as if her face were pressed against something. “But the nightmares…they just won’t stop. Every night I see her stepping off and falling and—and…” She trailed off. “How do I make them go away?”

More rustling and the squeak of Lissa’s cot. “Ya can’t,” Donnel answered simply. “Only time can do that.”

His answer did not appease the princess. “Surely there is some potion or spell that can stop it…”

Donnel sighed and more fabric rustled. “I don't know much about no fancy potions, but I can tell you from experience that you just gotta give it time. It’s gonna hurt more’n a rabid rooster bite but one day you’ll find that it’s the least bit more bearable than yesterday an’ it makes you look forward to tomorrow. I dunno if that’s ‘cuz the wound is healin’ or if you’re gettin’ stronger, but it softens bit by bit.”

“You have experience?” Lissa asked softly.

“Sure do,” Donnel replied, somewhat reluctantly. “I saw my pa die…lord, musta been seven years ago. Couldn’ta been more than twelve at the time.”

Maribelle could imagine Lissa burning with questions but unsure if it was proper to ask them. Ask them she did, however. “How? What happened? I mean, if you don’t mind sharing,” she finished shyly.

Donnel’s voice was cold and tight when he answered. “Brigands from Plegia invaded my village like they were doin’ when y’all picked me up. Pa was standin’ up for ma and me and…and…they gutted ‘im right in front of us. Didn’t even take nothin’ after they done it…they just laughed and walked away.”

Sorrow and reverence painted Lissa’s words. “I’m so sorry. Do you…do you still have nightmares?”

“All the time. They never go away.” His words were stark and unapologetic. Warmth seeped back into his tone as he talked. “They get easier to deal with, though. I figure all I can do now is live my life in bright colors, y’know? Pa ain’t around to see what I’m doin’ an’ who I'm with, but maybe if I live my life brightly enough he’ll see it all the way from heaven.”

Maribelle stood rooted to the ground in horror. She had no idea he’d experienced something like that. She hadn’t even been in the battle when they picked him up, so she knew nothing about his village. She thought of her own beloved father in all of his tall sternness and felt dizzy. When she took an honest look at herself, she realized she knew next to nothing about her partner. Blood thrummed in her ears. Shame at her shortcomings overwhelmed her so headily that she could barely hear Lissa’s voice. “—ful way to think, Donny. I want to live brightly too! I want to become a real lady just like Emm is…” She faltered. “Was.”

“I know you’ll make a real fine lady!” Donnel said warmly, sounding full of smiles. “You’ll make the finest lady anyone’s ever seen! You an’ me’ll just have to keep livin’ so well that my pa and your sister’ll just _have_ to notice. They’ll look down and know that when they…when they gave their lives up for us it wasn’t wasted.” A subtle tremor had entered his voice by the end—proof of a valiant and successful effort at swallowing back familiar pain.

Lissa didn’t seem to notice, as Maribelle predicted. “Thanks, Donny. You’ve made me feel…well…not good, but at least…better. I’m…I’m glad you stopped by.” Her small feet pattered a few steps, stopped abruptly, and then there was quiet.

Moments passed like eternities until Donnel broke the silence. “I oughtta get goin’, yer Highness.”

Lissa groaned. “Stop with the formalities already. We’re friends, right?”

“I s’pose, but…what am I supposed to call you?”

“Lissa!”

Maribelle imagined the farmhand cringing deeply. “That just don’t sound respectful enough fer a princess…” The aforementioned princess must have glared at him, though, for he gulped audibly. “I-I’ll work on it! Good night, then…Miss Lissa.”

Lissa sighed and chuckled at the same time. “Well, it’s a start, anyway. Good night, Donny.”

Before Maribelle had the wits to move, the tent flap swung open and Donnel knocked into her, jostling her tray and sloshing the lukewarm tea. “Cowpies, I’m sorry, I…Maribelle!” He squeaked, blanching.

So muddled was she that the troubadour could only scowl at him with her best disapproving eyes. “What, pray tell, were you doing in my treasure’s tent this time of night?”

“N-nothin’! I swear! We were just talkin’!”

Maribelle knew she was being unfair, but she couldn’t stop. Something drove her forward and wouldn’t listen to reason. “Now you listen here, Donnel. Can you imagine if Frederick had seen you? If you value your…delicate parts…you’ll refrain from sneaking into the Princess’s tent ever again, especially after dark. Have I made myself understood?”

“Yes, ma’am! I promise, though, I wasn’t tryin’ to, y’know, _lay the moves_ on Lissa…I just--”

“And who said you could call her by her first name?” Maribelle’s mouth was moving on it’s own, or so it seemed. She wanted to stop but words kept pouring out. She was ashamed and somehow annoyed.

Donnel muttered more apologies and then scuttled away as quickly as he dared. As he was leaving, Lissa exited the tent and frowned at her friend. “What’d you do that for? He was being nice to me!” Maribelle couldn’t make eye contact with her. “Geez,” Lissa said, seeing the tea in Maribelle’s hands and softening. “He’s a good guy, you know.”

“I know,” Maribelle replied, still watching the shadows into which he had vanished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took me so long to write...school is killing me! x_X Thank you for reading!


	5. V

**Part V**

Expensive clothes suited Donnel like wings suit a fish. Maribelle inspected him as he came into the mess hall and wasn’t sure if she should laugh or cringe. He walked uncomfortably past the mess benches that had been pushed aside to make the hall into an impromptu dance floor and stopped five feet in front of his tutor for the evening. “H-how is it?” He asked, spreading his arms and twisting from side to side to show off the stitching on the tunic’s side.

“The clothes are very smart, but you look like you’d rather not be wearing them,” Maribelle replied, deftly avoiding a direct answer. Neither of those statements were incorrect, after all.

Donnel chuckled and pulled at his sleeves. “That’s the truth of it. I can’t wrap my head around why rich folks like to wear so many darn layers…makes it awful hard to move. Why ain’t you wearin’ somethin’ spiffy?”

Maribelle puffed air at the question. “I am _always_ dressed…er…’spiffy’.” She was wearing her customary pink pantsuit, though she’d swapped her boots for a pair of dancing heels, which clicked as she approached the farmhand. His collar was crooked, so she fixed it with deft, practiced hands. “Now then. Are you ready?”

“Sure am!”

She clicked away to one her most prized possessions—an ornate music box that had been enchanted to play a gentle, medium-paced waltz. It worked by key crank and immediately leapt into song as soon as she lifted the dark, wooden lid. The music was familiar and comforting and reminded her of her mother’s scent—something powdery and delicate but tinged with antiseptic. Smiling slightly, she made her way back to her pupil and stood expectantly in front of him. He looked at her with wide eyes, unsure what to do. They looked at each other for a moment before she reached out and took his right hand in hers, hoisting it up. “Now, Donnel, take my waist.”

The farmhand’s gaze slid down her body and rested, almost guiltily, on her waist before returning to her face. His left hand finally found the hollow just above her hips and held it like one might hold a butterfly. She began counting and then they were moving, stepping and turning to the sounds of strings and flutes. Noble clothes may not have suited Donnel, but dancing certainly did. He had excellent rhythm and was a quick study when it came to steps and twirls. Maribelle’s only complaint was that he was inconsistent—he would be dancing fluidly, then she’d look up at him and smile or say a word of praise and he’d almost immediately trip over his own feet or step on her toes. “Gosh, I’m sorry, Maribelle…” he said penitently after the third time treading on her foot.

“It’s fine,” she replied through gritted teeth, trying to swallow back the pain. “This is to be expected of beginners. Perhaps next time I’ll bring out my steel-toed dancing shoes…”

“Next time?”

“Yes. You have undeniable potential and I am convinced that, with practice, you could be the rival of any noble at court. _Ouch!_ …Plenty of practice, though.”

Donnel seemed shocked into silence. The two moved in tandem for a minute until he spoke. “Y’know I’d never make designs on the princess like that, right?”

“To what are you referring?”

“The other night. I knocked into you comin’ outta Lissa’s tent.” He waited for the light of recognition in her eyes before continuing. “I’d never do anythin’ as awful as that, especially after her sister had died an’ all.”

Maribelle waited a moment before replying. “Yes, I know.”

Donnel frowned at her, annoyed. “Then what’d you jump on me like that for? You made it seem like I was bein’ a cad.”

“There is something you must understand, Donnel. Lissa is royalty. She and Chrom live and die by their reputation. Whether or not it’s fair, if a man is seen entering and leaving her tent, tongues will wag.” She hesitated, unsure of her next words. “This may sound cruel, but you are in a particularly precarious position.”

“…’cause I’m just a pig slopper, huh?”

They had stopped dancing now and were just looking at each other. Maribelle grimaced. She’d known that there was no easy way to say this. “Those…aren’t the words I’d use. But yes…Lissa is likely to marry someone of noble birth.” She immediately thought of Robin and frowned. “…or at least someone high ranking in the military.”

Donnel looked at her long and hard before taking her hand again and sweeping her into the waltz once more. The music box was still playing in the background, but Maribelle could barely hear it. “How ‘bout you?” the farmhand asked, looking over her shoulder as they moved.

“What about me?”

“Are you set to be married to some dandy nobleman?”

Maribelle had never thought about it before. She had been so wrapped up in her healer training that all else had fallen by the wayside. “Not to my knowledge, no. I’m far less constrained than Lissa.”

Donnel’s face was hidden over her shoulder, but she could hear his voice rumbling through his chest. “Good.”

A jolt shot up Maribelle’s spine and she was suddenly hyperaware of Donnel’s proximity and solid warmth. She felt his calloused right hand holding her own and the warmth of his left seeping through her clothes. His hands were bigger than hers. The clothes she’d lent him smelled of cologne and mothballs, but his own earthy, woodsy scent couldn’t be suppressed. A chill ran up her spine and she trembled. “Are ya cold?” He asked, concerned. “I hadn’t even thought about it, but them fabrics you wear are awful thin.”

“A-a little,” Maribelle lied, not sure what else to say.

“Here, get a little closer,” Donnel replied, gently but firmly pressing on her waist and pulling her closer to his chest. It was indeed warmer nearer to him, but that was doing nothing to improve Maribelle’s situation. “Earlier, I meant to say that’s good ‘cuz it seems awful lonely fer you to be tied to someone ‘cuz of money or station, ya know? Bein’ rich an’ powerful…seems awful hard.”

Hard? Maribelle thought back to her childhood, which was full of lace and riding lessons and warm beds and plenty of healthy, delicious food. She was often alone, yes, and her nannies and tutors saw her far more than her parents ever did, but _hard_ was certainly not how she would have described it. Cold, maybe. Sterile. Even so, she never wanted for anything. What did Donnel’s life have that hers did not?

She imagined a younger Donnel running through fields barefoot and mud-stained. She imagined cold nights where a family had no choice but to sleep in one bed to stay warm. The pain and love it would take a parent to go without so as to feed their child. Learning to ride a horse bareback instead of with beautiful, expensive, engraved tack. The incredible lack of grammar. She almost wrinkled her nose thinking about it—this imaginary world was so dirty, so sparse, so…colorful and warm. “See, that’s somethin’ I appreciate about who I am,” the newly-reclassed mercenary continued. “Ain’t nobody knows my name, but I can love whoever I want. Well, provided my ma likes ‘em, but she ain’t too hard to please.” There was a moment of silence before he said kindly, “I don’t know if you know this, Maribelle, but you been tramplin’ my feet for the past few minutes an’ it’s startin’ to hurt.”

Maribelle stopped, looked down, and gasped when she saw clear marks from her heels on the toes of her partner’s shoes. “I-I’m terribly sorry…how embarrassing! And when I’d just been lecturing you, too!” Her dance master would have been appalled.           

“Ain’t no big deal. You’re no bigger’n a minute, so it don’t do much damage.” Donnel grinned at her and, after a moment, she smiled back. Color immediately sprang into the young man’s face and he looked away, dropping his hands from the waltz positions. “Reckon I’m about tuckered out for the night, anyway.”

“Y-yes, I think this has been enough practice for one night,” Maribelle agreed, happy to turn away and busy herself packing the music box back in its box. “Be a gentleman and help me move these benches back to the center.” Donnel did as he was told, then left after bidding her goodnight. Mirth rose in her chest once more as he walked away stiffly, belying his continued discomfort in the fine clothes.

A figure slipped in the tent door and headed for the pantry. “Gaius,” Maribelle called out. “Good to see you here. Make me some tea, please.”

The thief grimaced and tried to pretend that he _wasn’t_ about to pilfer the army’s sweet biscuit supply. “And why exactly would I do that, Twinkles?”

“Because I don't feel like it. Also, I recently acquired a large box of very expensive macarons and there are rather too many for Lissa and I to eat on our own.”

Gaius was already boiling the water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fancy clothes were Ricken's, which is why they were rather too tight on Donnel. 
> 
> Thank you for reading :)


	6. VI

**Part VI**

Here’s a fact you won’t find in Robin’s roster: Maribelle has the reddest blush of anyone in the army. On this day, her face was so deeply crimson that everyone nearby couldn’t help but stare. She was crouched on the bank of a river about three-quarters of a mile from camp, hiding her flaming cheeks behind long, manicured fingers. A bucket rolled aimlessly in the dirt near her feet. “Er…you all right there, Maribelle?” Donnel asked, deeply confused by the valkyrie’s current reaction.

“NO, I am most certainly NOT alright,” Maribelle replied in a strained voice. “We have perfectly adequate bathing facilities in camp, so please explain to me WHY there are unclothed soldiers in the river where unsuspecting ladies could walk up and see them!”

She’d intended to draw water to heat for tonight’s bath, but had been greeted by the sight of Vaike, Donnel, Gaius, Ricken, Robin, and Stahl playing, naked, in the river. The men had submerged themselves in water as soon as she appeared, but it hadn’t stopped her from seeing Gaius’ backside and FAR more of Vaike than she’d ever wanted. “Sorry, Maribelle…we were just having some fun. It’s awfully hot out here, after all,” Stahl said apologetically. “We thought the piles of clothes in the bushes would tip anyone else off.”

“I’d thought perhaps you were doing laundry…I see now that I had woefully overestimated your maturity…” Still avoiding looking at the river lest she see Vaike’s delicates again, she fumbled about on the bank, looking for her bucket.

Donnel splashed closer. “Here, lemme get ‘at fer you,” he said, beginning to rise out of the water.

Maribelle shrieked and fell on her rump in the damp dirt in her haste to cover her eyes. “NO! You stay in that water! Far away!” When he’d lowered himself back in the river, she stood up again and moaned over the dirt covering her bottom. “To think I’d see the day that naked savages would cause me to muddy my good trousers…”

The men disliked being called savages, but no one was willing to argue the point except Donnel, who was still absolutely confounded by Maribelle’s reactions. “Now them’s strong words, there. What’s so savage about a good skinny dip in the river? You oughta join us! ‘Specially considering all this Plegian heat’s liable to fry us all up like pork sausages!”

Maribelle spluttered, _almost_ at a loss for words. “J-join you? Denude myself in front of…I never! The nerve!”

The other men’s respect for the farmhand had significantly increased. None of them would ever have dreamed of suggesting that _Maribelle_ , of all people, throw off her clothes and go for a carefree swim in the nude. The very idea made most of them deeply uncomfortable. It would be like Sully playing dress-up, or Miriel using less than twelve words to convey a simple thought—it would just be wrong. Vaike found the whole thing hilarious. “Here, I’ll undo your buttons for you!” He hollered.

“Come near me and you’ll be minus your favorite organ,” Maribelle retorted. She’d found her bucket finally and timidly approached the water’s edge to fill it. “Donnel, even if this sort of thing is normal in your village…surely the men and women do not bathe nude _together_.” Her voice had an edge of pleading to it.

Donnel searched his memories. His curly hair had dried only on top, making him look like he was wearing a fluffy crown. “The married folks don’t, but the young ‘uns our age ain’t got a problem with it.”

Maribelle was aghast. “You’ve…swam naked with women?”

“Ain’t nothin’…er, _sexual_ about it. It’s just skin.” He was feeling increasingly uncomfortable now and thought he had perhaps said too much. “I mean, if you ain’t in love with a person, it’s just another body, right?”

“Depends on the body,” Vaike interjected. “You can’t downplay a pair of really great t-” He was cut short by Ricken’s horrified squeak and Robin unceremoniously pushing his head underwater.

Robin’s pale Plegian body was blinding in the sunlight. “Point is, Maribelle, that we didn’t intend to offend you but we certainly won’t apologize for cooling off a little. Next time keep an eye out for bushes full of clothes.”

To the men’s surprise, the Valkyrie seemed less angry now and more despondent. “Yes. Well, I…I apologize for ruining your fun. I had heard men liked to bond naked…I was just surprised…” She picked up her now-full bucket and hurried up the bank, face still aflame.

Ricken called after her, panicked. “I think you’ve got the wrong idea! We’re not _bonding naked_! That’s…” She was gone, which was good because he had unthinkingly run bare onto the bank. “I’m not into that! Someone should make sure she knows!”

“Oh, calm down, shrimp.” Gaius said. “Don’t get your little lovelorn heart in a hogtie.”

“I am _not_ lovelorn! Or little!”

Robin smirked. “I distinctly remember you popping out in front of Aversa herself just to save Maribelle when she’d been kidnapped…”

“Sh-shut up!”

“Ricken and Maribelle got a history?” Donnel asked Stahl quietly, his words covered up by Robin’s teasing and Ricken’s whining.

Stahl made a face. “Their families are close. It’s been generally assumed that they’d marry when they are of age to merge the family names.” He leaned back, enjoying the sun. “They don’t talk much, though.”

Donnel gazed across a rock pile at Ricken, who was being dunked headfirst into a tiny whirlpool by Vaike.

oOoOoOo

The river glimmered seductively in the veiled Plegian moonlight. Fingers trembling, Maribelle slowly undid the first button on her white blouse. This was madness, she knew, but her encounter with the men had eaten her alive all day. She wanted to know what cool water and silvery starlight felt like against exposed skin. She wanted to know if it felt different to be naked in front of Naga and the night sky instead of cloistered in a tent. She wanted to know if it was possible to see skin, even only hers, and be able to think of it as “just another body”.

Her body…her purity…they were concepts guarded so jealously during her upbringing. She was the sum total of her cleanliness. Dirty women weren’t marriageable, after all. She slipped her blouse and corset off and set to work removing her boots and trousers. Once she was down to her smallclothes she stopped and trembled, half from the excitement and shame and half from the coolness of the night. Instead of removing them, she opted to undo her hair first.

She pulled the ribbons from her carefully cultivated curls and shook them free until they flowed over her collarbones like honey. Satisfied that they meagerly covered her bosom, she took a deep breath and unhooked her bra, sliding it down one arm and then the other. The night air felt foreign to skin that had never before seen the sun. Growing intoxicated from the feeling, she slid her underpants down her legs and stood bare in the moonlight.

Though she’d thoroughly checked around the riverbank before beginning this experiment, she took one more shameful look around before gingerly approaching the river’s edge, laying her towel on a rock, and wading into the water. The water was cooler than she expected and a shiver ran up her spine as she waded farther in. Ah. Yes, this was different. This was freeing. This was…primal. Stripped of her clothes and ribbons she was left with her peach flesh and whatever remained of her identity. Out here Maribelle the noble valkyrie didn’t exist…she was something wild and free, something bound to the earth and the moon and the stars. She spread her arms and twirled, laughing, and then clapped her hands over her mouth. Could someone have heard her? No. The river was as empty as ever.

In a rush of bravery, she dunked her head under the water and emerged a dripping water nymph, wearing drops of dew like jewelry and starlight like a crown. Yes, this was…magic.

Meters away from the river’s edge, Donnel emerged from the treeline, a sack of quail in one hand and a fistful of fiddleferns in the other. He had been trained early in life to move silently through the underbrush so as to avoid scaring away potential supper material and his attention was focused on the ground, looking for tripped snares, which was why he and Maribelle didn’t notice each other until he’d stepped out onto the top of the riverbank.

Movement in the river caught his eye and he turned to see the valkyrie’s naked profile. Water streamed from her shimmering hair, which had darkened when soaked, and ran in rivulets down her slender back. She was unlike anything Donnel had ever seen before and he knew in that moment that he would never again ask her to join the men skinny-dipping. She was no farm girl he’d grown up with, no milkmaid he considered a sister…she was a goddess and this sight was sacred and profane. She turned a little and Donnel instinctively yelped and covered his eyes, dropping his fiddleferns and game bag in the process.

When Maribelle heard Donnel’s yelp, she knew exactly who it was. Mortification flooded through her body like molten lead. She screeched and dove deeper into the water before turning towards him to try to stammer out an unnecessary explanation. “Donnel! This…this is just…” She then remembered how used he was to this sort of activity and relaxed a little. This didn’t matter. She was just another body to him. She slowly let her arms fall away from where they had been shielding her chest. “I-I mean…I didn’t expect to see you here so late.”

“I, er, well, these here greens don’t come out ‘cept at night and I was gonna use ‘em to season these here birds for tomorrow’s supper…I wasn’t spyin’ on ya, honest!” His accent grew thicker with nerves.

“That’s p-perfectly fine...after all, this is nothing new to you and…why are you covering your eyes?” She asked incredulously, finally having looked at him.

Donnel turned his head away and blindly fished for his belongings where they had fallen. “W-well, you’re a lady an’ it just ain’t proper for me to stumble on you in such a vulnerable situation an’ all.”

“Didn't you invite me to swim with you earlier? I was under the impression this sort of thing didn't bother you.” Feeling brazen, she lifted herself out of the water a little more, exposing more of her pale chest.

Donnel had nothing to say and nowhere to look. How could he explain what ran through his mind at the sight of her glowing flesh? “I…I mighta spoke too soon earlier. I mean, we’re all gettin’ too old to bathe together after all. I-I see what you mean now.” When she said nothing in reply, he gathered up his items and hurried away. “My apologies again, Maribelle!” He shouted over his shoulder.

The river and its occupants were silent. Something fierce and warm had spread through the doused valkyrie’s body. He hadn’t looked at her once. Despite his yammering about his history of bathing co-ed, he had averted his eyes. “Just another body” indeed.

Smirking, she pulled herself out of the lake and dried herself off before buttoning up her clothes again.

oOoOoOo 

After Maribelle left, the river’s final occupant let out a sigh of relief. Kellam often bathed in the river at night and had been surprised and horrified when the woman appeared, stripped, and entered his space without so much as a by-your-leave.

It was times like this when Kellam appreciated his lonely superpower. It wasn’t every day someone got to see Maribelle naked and also keep his genitals afterwards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kellam has seen so many things.
> 
> So.
> 
> Many.
> 
> Things.
> 
> Please leave me a comment if you feel so inclined! I'd appreciate it!


	7. VII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So much pining

**Part VII**

Maribelle was losing everything—her touch, her mind, her precious steed, and worst of all, her partner. “Hang on, Donnel!” She said, breathing heavily and having trouble balancing the half-conscious mercenary in front of her on the saddle. He groaned, holding his right flank with both hands. Steering her bleeding horse around a large rock formation and away from the ensuing battle behind, Maribelle cast about frantically for a place to halt. She found a spot of thick grass against a cliff face and reigned in her mount.

Afternoon was waning fast; the skirmish had lasted longer than expected. The army had intended to clear a valley hamlet of Risen but had failed to notice the bandit troupe using the mayhem as a cover to rob the villagers of livestock and valuables. Maribelle helped her partner out of the saddle and laid him on the grass. Her horse was bleeding badly from an arrow to the flank, but she turned her attention to Donnel first. “Donnel,” she said, kneeling at his side and unstrapping all the staves she carried. “I need to know what happened. How did you get hurt?”

The young man shook his head weakly. “I-I dunno…it just all of a sudden and…” his face contorted in pain and his words became incomprehensible.

“Where does it hurt most?” Maribelle demanded. He didn’t answer verbally and instead clutched his side tighter. As gently but quickly as she could, Maribelle moved his hands and unbuckled his armor, sliding it off and out from under him. The rest of the layers followed suit: she used a short knife to slice through his tunic and undershirt, baring his abdomen. There was no blood, no swelling, no bruising…she stared at his flesh in disbelief. Where was the wound?

She didn’t see him get injured. She had been preoccupied with attempting to cast a spell at a nearby Risen; though she’d classed up into a Valkyrie over a month ago, she hadn’t yet been able to properly use magic. Whipping out spells was easy against practice dummies, but in the heat of battle her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth and her hands shook like river rushes. She’d lost her page in her Fire tome and was preparing to restart the spell when she heard Donnel yelp. His battle vocalizations were a familiar language to her by now; she knew this one meant trouble and turned to see him sink to his knees in the scrubby vegetation of the battlefield.

Naturally she’d assumed he’d been stabbed or hexed or…something…but what manner of sorcery was this? What curse left no mark? Maribelle searched her mind and came up empty. Though it was unsanitary, she tore off her gloves with her teeth and placed her hands on Donnel—one on his forehead and one on his chest. His skin was hot and damp. She pushed a wave of magic through his body, trying to locate the source of his suffering. He cried out and she felt it: something was wrong deep under the skin, in his organs. She sat back on her heels and clenched her hands together…this was beyond her. He didn’t need an army cleric, he needed a real, properly trained medical sage.

 _No panicking, now. Sound mind, sound decisions._ She took measured breaths and reached for a Mend staff. A soft glow surrounded the pair as she chanted fervently over her wounded partner. Small scratches and bruises faded from his flesh, but his face was still taut with pain. _Again_. She cast the spell again. Nothing changed. _Again. Again! Again!_ She cast until the staff splintered, but nothing worked. Frustrated, she threw the broken Mend aside and hunched over her patient. _I’m so useless_ , she thought, tears causing the world to swim. _All my training and I can’t…_ ah, there was still one more hope. She took her Fire tome in hand and shot a spell straight in the air, the universal sign for help. Surely one of the Shepherds would see it…but would it be too late?

“Well, lookie what we got here…” A rough voice drawled to her left. She snapped her head to the side and found a broad-shouldered thief leaning against the cliff wall and fingering his dagger. “A half-dead mercenary and a healer with a broken staff. Ain’t this a pitiful scene?”

Ice flooded Maribelle’s heart. “Leave us alone, foul brute. We have enough trouble.”

“Foul brute?” The thief repeated in a wounded tone. “That hurts. I don’t know if I can forgive that. I think I’m gonna have to carve an apology out of your pretty skin.”

Maribelle stood, shaking, then opened her tome and stuck out her chin. “O-one step closer and I’ll be forced to maim you!”

“I don’t think you can maim anyone, sweetheart.”

“Try me!”

The thief snickered and pointed at her tome with his knife. “Your book’s upside down.” Maribelle flushed and quickly flipped it around. “Y’know, I like you. I think I’ll carve the apology out of _his_ skin first and save you for last. I bet you’ve got some gold in those pretty pockets.” He held his dagger up and advanced, grinning.

oOoOoOo

Donnel drifted in and out of consciousness. He felt pain like he’d never felt before and a sickening slurry of searing heat and a cold that chilled his spine. When he opened his eyes he saw an orange sky and Maribelle’s face. She was chanting over him with her staff, but the pain persisted. Why wasn’t it working? He closed his eyes.

When he opened them again she was crying and her tears had dropped like rain on his cheeks. He wanted to say something, to tell her it was okay, that there was no place he’d rather die, but another wave of pain knocked him out again.

The next time he awoke, there were two voices. One of them was an unfamiliar male’s. The other was Maribelle’s, and she was whimpering. Adrenaline flooded his body and he pushed himself into a half-sitting position, trying to see what was happening. Maribelle was clutching her stomach and had staggered back from her attacker, tome still in her hand. The man was laughing. “This is pathetic,” he said, his voice coming as if from underwater. “A Valkyrie who can’t use magic. Is this what Chrom’s army has been reduced to? Here, I’ll slice some inspiration into his flesh.” Donnel knew the man was talking about him and lowered himself back to the ground, awaiting the bite of a blade. Instead, a wave of roaring heat like nothing he’d felt before washed over him, and then the world was silent.

He was roused from darkness once more by the touch of something cold. When he opened his eyes, evening had come and fireflies were flitting between blades of grass. Maribelle lay by his side and she had fit her hand into his. Her clothes were darker than usual and it finally registered in Donnel’s fevered mind that she was soaked in blood. “I did it,” she said softly. “I killed him. Charred him to bits.” Something glinted in the light of the fireflies and he realized a blade handle was protruding from her abdomen. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.”

There were things Donnel needed to say, but a shadow descended upon the two of them and he was relieved when the world faded to black.

oOoOoOo

He hadn’t expected to wake up ever again, but when he did it was sudden and shocking, like jumping into a river in winter. “Ah, that did the trick,” a voice to his right said. When he turned to look, he was struck with a sudden panic because he didn’t recognize the face. _Who in tarnation…?_ What had happened at the battle? Where was the army? Were they all dead? Where was…

Donnel bolted upright in bed and immediately regretted it when his head swam. He pushed the rising nausea away and threw off his covers. “Where’s Maribelle?”

“No, no, lay back down, please. Everything’s fine and you need to rest,” the unfamiliar face said.

“Pigpens to that!” Donnel replied, pushing the medical sage’s hands away. “Is everyone alright? Where are they?”

Another figure appeared around the sage and put their hands out to calm him. “Peace, Donnel. We’re fine. Everyone is alive!” It was Libra. “Well, minus a few horses and a large chunk of Robin’s dignity…”

Donnel could have kissed him. “Libra! Yer alive!”

“I am, indeed, and so are you, thanks to Cherche here.”

He stepped aside to show the redheaded Wyvern Lord smiling happily and holding a tray of food. “It’s really thanks to Maribelle’s spellwork…I wouldn’t have found you in time if she hadn’t guided Minerva with a flare,” she said, modest as usual.

“Speaking of, we should alert her that her partner is awake. Would you do the honors?” Libra made to take the tray from Cherche, but she shook her head and held onto it.

“Unless my ears deceive me, that won’t be necessary.”

Donnel didn’t understand her meaning until three seconds later when he heard the faint sounds of a rumpus growing nearer and nearer until the door exploded inward, kicked by a small, bare foot. “WHERE IS HE?”

It was Maribelle, hair undone and clad in a pale pink muslin pajama set. She spotted Donnel and immediately burst into rather angry tears. “You…!” Lissa, Robin, Chrom, and Ricken appeared in the door behind her, out of breath as if they’d chased her down the corridor.

Donnel stood unsteadily and walked around the foot of his bed in time to catch her as she hurled herself at his bare chest. “Well, pecan brittle, Maribelle, what are _you_ cryin’ for?” he asked weakly.

“You…scared me…so badly!” She sobbed. “I thought you’d been hexed or cursed or…or…I don’t know! I thought you were dead!” She scrubbed at her eyes, still scowling. “And then I wake up and find out that it was just appendicitis! I’d like to slap you!”

Libra _hemm_ ’d behind the pair. “It was more than appendicitis. His entire appendix had ruptured and needed surgery. Your worry was well placed.”

“Stay out of this!” Maribelle said tartly. “Don’t you _ever_ worry me like that again, understood?”

“Me? What about you? The last time I saw you, you were bleedin’ out all over the grass like a stuck pig!” Donnel replied, looking her up and down as if to make sure she wasn’t still bleeding. “What happened?”

She stuck her nose in the air smugly. “ _Hmmph_. I showed that unwashed coward what good breeding, a proper education, and a Fire tome can do.”

“You roasted him?”

“I did.”

“She very nearly roasted _you_ ,” Robin interjected, entering the clinic room. “She’s proven she’s got the power. Now she needs some control.”

Lissa followed him. “Yeah, but it was amazing!”

Maribelle was rather pleased with the praise. “Yes, well. You know what I always say. Hard work and talent combined are…oh it doesn't matter. I’m just…just so happy you’re well.”

She had pulled away from him self-consciously, but he pulled her back in and rested his cheek against the side of her head. She resisted him at first, then her arms slowly rose around him. He clasped her tighter, tighter against his chest, but it wasn’t tight enough. She was soft and her hair smelled like soap and antiseptic. They stayed this way for a long time, until Maribelle gently stepped back. “I have something to show you. This isn’t…exactly proper…so I’ll only show you once, understood?”

Donnel nodded and she began tugging the corners of her pajama shirt up. The farmboy’s mind melted slightly in shock. She stopped when the shirt was just above her navel, however, revealing a small dark pink scar on her right flank. “That’s where you were stabbed, ain’t it?” he asked, trying to focus on the scar and not the way the fabric bunched on the curves of her hips.

“We match.” she said simply.

It finally clicked in Donnel’s mind and he looked down at his own flank to see a similarly located surgical scar, small and pearly. “Well…” he said, lost for words. “Now I reckon we’re closer than ever, huh?” Unthinking, he reached out and traced his fingers softly across the indention on her flesh.

She flamed red in the face, quickly sliding her shirt down. Donnel pulled his hand back as if she’d bitten it. Neither knew where to look and settled for staring at opposite walls. Perhaps it was from standing so soon after an operation, but Donnel found himself short of breath and more than a little dizzy.

Lissa tiptoed over to the pair (who had completely forgotten everyone else’s presence) and gently pulled her friend away. Maribelle snapped out of her daze immediately. “Now that I’ve ascertained with my own eyes that he is not too much worse for the wear I think I shall go back to bed myself.”

“Good idea,” Ricken said darkly, offering his arm for her to lean on.

Donnel’s hands twitched.

“How about you get back in bed yourself?” Robin said, smiling at the mercenary. “You’ve done a fine job and you deserve some rest.”

“How long was I out?” Donnel asked, following the tactician’s suggestion and climbing back onto his cot.

“Two days, so not long. We were lucky that the village we saved has a thriving medical community. Unfortunately the thieves had stolen most of the pain medication so the medical sages had to give you some stronger sleeping potions while they operated.” He grimaced thinking about it. “Rest well and heal fast. We’re still hot on Gangrel’s tail and we’d like to leave as soon as possible to cut him off before he can hide.”

Donnel nodded. “Understood, Robin, sir.”

Robin patted his leg and turned to leave. Maribelle was still hovering in the doorway, perched on Ricken’s arm. Her opposite hand absentmindedly fluttered to her abdomen and settled over her scar. She met her partner’s eyes one last time, and then she was gone.

Donnel touched his own scar, still looking at the door.

“Now how about that food?” Cherche asked brightly from the other side of the bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maribelle lost her horse in that battle and swore off of horses and magic altogether afterwards. Robin agreed to let her reclass into a War Cleric on the condition that she start training upper body strength during Frederick's Fanatical Fitness Hour.
> 
> Thank you guys so much for the kind comments...you guys are really the best!!!!!!


	8. VIII

**Part VIII**

“I’m not entirely sure this is the best idea the night before the biggest battle either of us will likely ever face,” Maribelle protested weakly. “I think we would do better to spend our time resting.”

“You’re not wrigglin’ yer way outta this one, Maribelle,” Donnel replied, marking the dirt floor of the empty mess tent with seemingly random symbols.

Maribelle cringed. “I’m not attempting to ‘wriggle’ out of anything…I just think we ought not wear ourselves out. Robin won’t thank us tomorrow if we face Gangrel and lose because we’re sore and stiff like village elders.” Also she felt ridiculous in the outfit Donnel had bought for her in one of the towns they’d passed through. It was a practical, layered cotton dress that was short enough to show a pair of colorful woolen tights and simple, soft leather boots. Donnel had said it was the closest thing he could find to what unmarried women wore in his village and it would be perfect for dancing.

“Look, the fiddler’s already here,” Donnel said, moving to welcome an older man wearing the simple garb of a peasant. “Thanks for coming.” The mercenary had been talking about teaching Maribelle one of his dances for weeks, but she’d stymied him by pointing out that they didn’t have any music and he couldn't very well play and dance at the same time. She thought she’d been clever, but as soon as they made camp he traipsed off to a nearby village and came back with news that he’d found a fiddler willing to trade a few songs for whatever coins he had in his pocket.

“How nice.” she replied unconvincingly.

Donnel ignored her negativity and started explaining the symbols on the floor as the musician warmed up his instrument. “We’re gonna start on the square, see, then when the music starts we turn to our left and pause on these circles here.” He led her through the moves one by one. “You gotta swish yer skirts with a lot of energy here or you’ll just be hoppin’ like a toad on a toadstool.”

The fiddler was warmed and ready by the time Maribelle began to get the moves correct. _Waltzing was far easier_ , she thought irritably. _I’m already sweating_.

“There! You’ve got the hang of it now. Ready to add music?”

The valkyrie took a deep breath and nodded. _Let’s get this over with_.

Donnel signaled at the musician, who hoisted his fiddle to his chin and began stomping out a beat. “One! Two! Onetwothree!” The man struck the strings and music poured from his hands and filled the lantern-lit tent.

Maribelle remembered how much she loved this sort of music and completely forgot her steps the first round, but Donnel was patient and cheered her on. “The star, Maribelle, not the circle! And UP! ‘atta girl!” The dance was lively and exhausting and as the steps became muscle memory, the noblewoman lost herself in it.

She discovered with glee that the underside of her skirts had multicolored lace that was perfect for ‘swishin’ as Donnel said. Grinning like a fool, she grabbed handfuls of the fabric and whirled them around as she stepped. Her partner was just as talented at this dance as he was at waltzing and far more familiar, so he was there to catch her every time she stepped out of time or twisted the wrong direction.

“Hold on tight!” He said loudly over the music, and pulled her closer to him. His hands moved to her waist, he crouched slightly, then she was airborne. “Put yer knees on my chest,” he instructed. “This is the finishing move!” She did as instructed and he supported her back and neck with both hands, gently easing her backwards until she was staring at the tent ceiling. He twirled as the fiddle played faster and faster, then stopped, tossed her a few inches into the air, and caught her bridal style when she fell. When she hit his arms, the music stopped and the pair struck a pose, giggling like children and breathing hard like racehorses.

When the laughing died down, the two soldiers’ eyes met and it finally occurred to Maribelle that she was _in Donnel’s arms_ and had, at some point, twined her own arms around his neck. She could feel his right hand gripping her thigh and became aware of the way her breasts pressed against his body. She’d never been this close to a man. Her family would be scandalized—this amount of contact was taboo, obscene, illicit—yet all she could do was stare at the curve of his lips and wonder what they would taste like.

A thrill shot through her spine when she looked up at his eyes and saw her hunger reflected in their gray depths. The two were both still breathing heavily, but now it felt like it was for an entirely different reason. With a small movement, she leaned her forehead against his, sliding her nose along his cheek until she could feel his breath on the corner of her mouth. Her heart pounded against her ribcage. Nervously, she flicked her eyes up to meet his, which were half-lidded and dark. As if seeking permission, he slowly began to tilt his face to meet hers.

A loud sound broke their trance. The fiddler had snapped his instrument case closed and was shuffling towards the exit. “I’ll be goin’ now. You kids have a good evenin’, ya hear?” Looking back, he seemed to realize that he’d interrupted something and shuffled out the tent flap faster, muttering apologies.

Donnel set Maribelle gently on her feet, refusing to meet her gaze. There was silence as he scuffed away the symbols he’d drawn in the dirt. A mixture of shame, embarrassment, and anger at the fiddler’s poor timing rose in Maribelle’s chest. “Donnel…” she began.

“Y’know, I’m scared.” Donnel interrupted her.

Maribelle was taken aback. “Pardon?”

“About tomorrow, I mean.” He still refused to look at her. “I’m terrified. We’re fighting a real trained army tomorrow and I still feel like the farmhand that left my village all them months ago. I could die. When I think about it, I don’t know what to do.”

“You’re not going to die,” Maribelle said, grimacing and placing a hand on his back soothingly. “I won’t let you and you know it.”

Donnel turned around to face her, eyes blazing. “I don’t know much of anything anymore, Maribelle. All I know is I can’t die yet. Not yet.” Without another word he stepped forward, tilted Maribelle’s chin up, and kissed her deeply.

His lips were warm, almost feverish, and they lingered on hers like the last rays of sunlight on summer evenings. She immediately mourned their loss when he pulled away and so reached for his shirt, tugging his face back to hers. “Don’t go,” she murmured.

He responded by kissing her again and again until she’d lost count. Her fingers twisted in his hair and his hands cupped her face firmly. Heat spread through her body, making her knees weak and her head swim. This time she didn’t stop him when he pulled away, lips reddened and slightly swollen. Astonishment, affection, and some other emotion she couldn’t name were mixed in his face. “I can die happy now,” he said, smiling lopsidedly.

“Don’t even joke about that.” Maribelle hissed. “Don’t. I’ll see you tomorrow and many, many days after that.”

He reached for her hand and brought her knuckles to his lips. “Tomorrow,” he agreed, then turned and headed for the exit and whatever morning would bring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fiddler really felt terrible for interrupting their moment. He liked Donnel and wished him the best with 'that fancy gal.'   
> Maribelle was too worked up to sleep much that night and she, of course, blamed it all on Donnel. 
> 
> Only a few more chapters to go, folks. Thanks so much for reading and please leave me a comment if you'd like :)


	9. IX

**Part IX**

Even hours after she’d witnessed Chrom drive his sword through Gangrel’s chest, Maribelle couldn’t believe that the Mad King was dead, that it was over, that they’d _won_. She patched up the wounded Shepherds in a daze and followed Robin and the Prince back to camp without fully accepting the fact that she no longer had to fight or train. A massive (at least for the army) feast was held that night, but she ate mechanically, ignoring all the cheering and revelry surrounding her.

It wasn’t until the next day, when she awoke to the sounds of the camp being packed up for the march back to Ylisse, that she came to grips with the idea that her time with the Shepherds had come to an end. Robin walked from soldier to soldier, distributing chores. The valkyrie hoped she would be stationed near Donnel, as she wanted to continue their conversation from the other evening.

She was assigned inventory reconciliation duty instead and was thus confined to a tent (that was eventually taken down from over top of her) and a table where she counted staves, potions, and other items and then recorded them in a ledger. Miriel, Ricken, Lissa, and Nowi were also on inventory duty and the group was merry as they worked until Lissa snuck a large beetle into Nowi’s quill pouch. Nowi ate it and Ricken then promptly fainted, knocking a pot of ink over and onto the ledger. After reviving the mage, the group was forced to begin again. By the time they were done, Donnel had been sent off as part of a hunting party gathering meat for the journey back to Ylisse. The hunters didn’t return until long after Maribelle had fallen asleep waiting for them.

Donnel was scarce to be found on the journey back to Ylisstol. He had grown into one of the strongest men in the army and was constantly called to tote equipment around with Vaike and Frederick. When Maribelle was able to ride beside him, they would only exchange a few words before he was called away. After the army crossed into Ylisse, he took a prime position next to Robin, who wanted to know all about the smaller villages in the halidom.

Eventually Maribelle grew tired of looking at the back of Donnel’s curly head, so she opened a map of Ylisse and plotted instead.

oOoOoOo

 _Where is he?_ Maribelle wondered, looking around the lavishly decorated royal courtyard for Donnel, who was nowhere to be seen. The army had been back in Ylisstol for six days, most of which the valkyrie had spent nearly comatose in bed. She hadn’t realized just how exhausted she was until she took a hot bath and crawled into a real bed with real down pillows for the first time in almost a year.

Once the army was more or less rested, wounds had healed, and mail from home had been distributed, Chrom had announced that there was to be a party at the castle to celebrate the end of the war, after which the Shepherds would be free to disperse back to their respective homes. The castle was a frenzy of preparations and activity as the party drew nearer and the day had finally come. The entire army had gathered in the castle courtyard, dressed in finery that looked out of place on people Maribelle was used to seeing wearing armor and holding weapons instead of delicate champagne glasses. The courtyard itself had been decorated with hundreds of twinkling lanterns, tables of food, and Ylissean banners. A stage had been erected in one corner for musicians.

A coach had already been hired to take her back to her parents’ home in the morning, so she knew that this was her last chance to find Donnel and discuss what had happened the night before the final battle. She scanned the faces of the partygoers, but could not find the one she was looking for.

Trumpets sounded, calling attention over to the west side of the garden. Chrom took the stage, which had been enchanted to make louder the voice of anyone who stood on it. “Thank you all for being here. I know we all have our little corners of the world to return to, but before we go our separate ways there are a few matters to discuss. First, I—what is it, Lissa?”

The Princess had climbed the stage and was tugging at his sleeve. Though she was always lovely in Maribelle’s opinion, she looked especially radiant tonight in a pale green gown that gently echoed the color of Emmeryn’s Exalt robe. “I have something to announce before you start talking about the boring stuff,” she said, trying to be quiet on the amplified stage.

 “This isn’t going to be boring.” He replied. “Just let me say one thing and then I’ll let you talk, okay?”

Lissa scrunched up her face but nodded. Her brother turned back to the audience and beckoned to an unspecified person. Whispers rose as Olivia slipped out of the throng, wearing a cream-colored frock and looking extremely red in the face. “I wanted to introduce you all to Olivia,” he said, extending his hand to her. The Shepherds squinted at him, confused. They knew the dancer well from their last few weeks at war. “Not just as a member of the Shepherds,” he continued, “but also as my betrothed.”

The audience gasped collectively. They knew the two had been spending time together recently, but this was unexpected—and so soon, too! Lissa blanched beside him. “We will let you know more about wedding plans as we figure them out.” He and his fiancée blushed together and waved at the wolf-whistles and cheers coming from well-wishers.

When the noise had died down, he motioned to his sister, who hesitated. “Well, this is awkward,” she said. “Why didn’t you tell me you were engaged?”

Chrom made a face at her. “Let’s talk about this _later_ ,” he replied in hushed, pleading tones. “Just say what you need to say and don’t make a scene.”

Lissa looked at him long and hard before stepping forward and waving at everyone gathered. “Hi, guys! Just so you know, I had no idea about my brother and I just…just wanted to let everyone know that Robin and I are getting married!”

The audience gasped again, though they had seen this one coming. Chrom evidently had not, however, and his jaw dropped. “What? Why wasn’t I informed?” He complained.

Lissa stuck her tongue out and waggled her hips sassily. “Let’s talk about this _later_.”

“Chrom, I did tell you. We discussed the matter yesterday.” Robin had come to stand beside his fiancée.

The Prince spluttered. “I thought you were jesting!”

“What?” Robin asked. “Why would I joke about something that serious?”

“I don’t…you’re too young to be married!” Chrom turned back to Lissa.

She crossed her arms and took on her stubborn expression that Maribelle knew only too well. “I am not! I’m twenty and I can do as I please!”

The four of them were quite a spectacle with the royal siblings glaring daggers at each other, Robin trying to calm Chrom down, and Olivia a dithering mess behind her fiancé. Finally the tactician managed to usher his best friend toward the stage stairs, promising to talk about this somewhere not in front of the whole army. Chrom followed him, nearly in tears. “You’re _marrying my little sister?_ She was only in diapers yesterday…Emm embroidered them with piglets because she was so chubby…”

“CHROM!” Lissa shouted, shoving him off the stage.

Robin followed the circus down the steps, sighing. “Gods.”

Maribelle wanted to go to Lissa, but she knew that it would not be prudent to interrupt whatever family conversation was happening at this moment, so instead she headed towards the refreshments to refill her wine glass. She pushed through the crowd, one hand holding her glass and the other holding up her long, cranberry colored skirts. She had forgotten how difficult it was to move about in petticoats after months of boots and trousers.

Someone laughed to her left and she whirled around—she knew that laugh; she heard it in her dreams. She abandoned her glass and hurried toward the sound to find Donnel having a spirited conversation with Stahl and Sully. “Donnel!” She cried happily, trying to contain the smile that threatened to expose her joy.

The mercenary startled and snapped his head up to look at her mid-laugh. “Maribelle!” He said, the grin slipping off his face.

“I’ve been scouring the courtyard for you!” Maribelle scolded him. “Where have you been?”

“Er,” he replied, going red in the cheeks. “I was just catchin’ up with some of the soldiers, this bein’ the last night an’ all.”

Sully tugged Stahl’s sleeve surreptitiously. “Come on, you overfed lout. Let’s go find Frederick and ask him when training begins again.”

“Ugh,” Stahl said, grimacing. “I don’t want to know.”

“Too bad. Plus I hear they’re bringing out a giant smoked ham soon.”

The green knight’s eyes brightened. “Right behind you!” Sully rolled her eyes and led him away, leaving Donnel and Maribelle looking at the ground uncomfortably.

The two stood in silence for a minute. Thoughts and words raced through Maribelle’s head, but none of them seemed adequate to explain the desire welling up in her heart. “You’re looking well,” she finally said. “though your hair could use a comb.”

Donnel smoothed his curls self-consciously. “You know me,” he laughed. “I ain’t much for appearances.” His eyes flitted up and down her body before looking away, embarrassed. “You’re lookin’ mighty fine yourself tonight. I ain’t never seen you in silk skirts and such before but they…they fit you.” More moments passed. “Listen, about the other night--”

“Come here. I have something to show you,” Maribelle said, reaching for his hand. She led him to a bench in a quieter corner of the courtyard and rummaged through her handbag. “Look,” she said, pulling out a map of the halidom and unfolding it in her lap. “I found your village.”

Donnel inspected it and smiled fondly. “You sure did.” His village had been marked with a blue dot. “That there’s your home town,” he said, pointing to another dot on the map.

“Yes, it is,” Maribelle said, pleased that he knew. “I’ve calculated the distance between the two. It’s two hundred and eighty-three kilometres from my home to yours and vice-versa.” Donnel continued to stare at the map, so she continued. “That’s not a bad distance at all! It’s easily traversed in a carriage (which I have three of), so it’s a completely plausible journey.”

Her companion finally lifted his eyes to meet hers. “What are you sayin’?”

Blood rushed into Maribelle’s face, but she pushed through the nerves. “I want you to come to my home and meet my parents and I want to meet your mother.” Her heart thumped so hard she felt dizzy. There, in a corner of a crowded royal courtyard, she finally said it: “I’m in love with you, Donnel.”

She had expected him to blush and stammer or kiss her or take her hands or… _something_ …but instead he looked away and said nothing. Seconds ticked away and nausea began to pool in her stomach. Perhaps this was bad timing? “I-I know this might be sudden--” she began.

“I’m sorry.” Donnel said suddenly, cutting her off.

It was as if the courtyard became silent and those two words were all she could hear, over and over. “I beg your pardon…?”

He refused to meet her eyes. “I’m sorry. I can’t return your feelings.”

The nausea increased and Maribelle took a moment to breathe. She blinked, looking down at the map that was still laying on her lap. “You…don’t feel the same way?”

He shook his head wordlessly, still staring off into space.

The weight of that movement hit her in the chest like an axe and she floundered for air. “I…I see. I just…I thought you had made your feelings clear the other night when you…” She couldn’t say it. The word ‘kiss’ wasn’t enough to explain the way she’d felt when their lips touched over and over again in a dusty tent, their bodies damp with sweat and emotion.

“That was a mistake,” he said, finally meeting her eyes. “I got caught up in the moment an’ let things go too far. That’s my fault and I apologize.”

Maribelle stared at him, unable to process what she was hearing. A mistake? He thought it was a mistake? How was this possible? All those times their eyes and hands and hearts had met in camp and on the battlefield…all the looks and lingering touches they’d shared…the regretful _good night_ s and cheerful _good morning_ s and the way he stood when he protected her in battle…how had she misread them all? Her eyes began to sting and she blinked rapidly. “…how could you…?” she asked, barely above a whisper.

“I--” he began.

“How could you?” Maribelle repeated, tears threatening to overflow. “How do you sit there and tell me it was a mistake, that _I_ was a mistake…” Anger began to replace the crushing pain and her tears ran hot and in earnest now. “You kissed me…it was my first and only kiss…and you tell me you were _caught up in the moment_? What, you would have kissed anyone just to kiss _someone_? I was just a warm body in a convenient time and place?”

“No!” He said, and she noticed with indignation that his eyes were sparkling with liquid too.

“Don’t you dare!” She raged, standing up and crumpling her map in one hand. “You don’t get to cry. You don’t get to kiss me and make me love you and play me like your godsforsaken fiddle and then cry. You don’t _get_ to!”

“Stand up.” She ordered. He did as he was told. “Tell me again that it was a mistake. I want to make sure I understand fully. Tell me you feel nothing for me.” She looked him in the eyes, wordlessly pleading with him.

He stood before her, no longer the lanky farmhand that he had been and yet just as lost as he was the day he joined the Shepherds. His expensive suit hung off of him at odd angles despite his fit physique and his head looked empty without his tin pot. “It was a mistake,” he said haltingly, tears running silently down his cheeks. “I don’t love you.”

The crowd around the two had fallen quiet and edged away, realizing that something important was happening. Maribelle held her former partner’s gaze until he broke it, then looked around as if finally remembering that they weren’t alone. “I’ve made quite the scene,” she whispered reproachfully. “I apologize.” She stuffed the crumpled map back in her handbag and wiped her face with a handkerchief. When she looked back at the mercenary, her eyes had hardened. “Well, then. It was an honor working with you, Donnel. Good luck with whatever it is you choose to do with yourself from now on.” She smiled at him, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I truly wish you the best.” She turned away, gathering up her skirts to disappear back into the crowd. “Dry your face,” she said over her shoulder. “You look ridiculous.”

With that, she walked away, head held high. Donnel scrubbed his cheeks with his sleeves and sat back down on the bench.

oOoOoOo

The next morning, Maribelle kissed Lissa goodbye and traveled home in silence. Two hundred and eighty-three kilometres away, Donnel was welcomed home as a hero and the word was ashes in his mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wat  
> wat da fack, Donnel
> 
> I apologize for how long this chapter took—I got the flu and have been out of commission! Please take this extra long chapter as penance!
> 
> Thank you again for reading and for the lovely, lovely comments that you leave! They warm my heart and make me so, so happy. Please stay with Maribelle, Donnel, and I until we reach our conclusion!


	10. X

**PART X**

Lissa and Chrom fought over wedding dates for months, but in the end Frederick found an obscure Ylissean law that stated older siblings must marry before younger ones. Chrom and Olivia, therefore, were the first to wed nearly a year after the army had disbanded. Maribelle was not in the wedding party, but she helped Lissa change out of her bridesmaid attire after the wedding and was thus privy to another of the royal siblings’ arguments. “You’re not getting married in a week!” Chrom hollered across the dressing room. Olivia had been escorted away by maids to undo her elaborate wedding gown, leaving Chrom, Lissa, Frederick, Robin, and various helpers behind.

“I am too!” Lissa yelled back, holding her arms up so Maribelle could untie her sash. “The chapel is already decorated and it would be ridiculous to tear it all down just to put it back up later!”

“Olivia and I will be gone for a week to visit her family in Regna Ferox!”

“Then you’ll get back just in time!”

Chrom ducked around Frederick, who was unbuttoning the elaborate groom’s coat. “I have to have time to prepare for this, you know!”

“THEN YOU BETTER START PREPARING!”

The new ruler of Ylisse turned to Robin, who was standing nearby. “How do you deal with her?”

Robin smiled. “A happy wife is a happy life,” he said cheerfully. “Now there’s a strategy to live by.”

"Come on, this is ridiculous, right?” Chrom implored Maribelle, looking desperately at her as if she were his last hope.

“I support my darling Lissa, of course,” Maribelle replied, earning a beaming grin from her best friend.

“Frederick…?”

The tall knight shook his head. “This is one battle in which I can not shield you, Milord.”

Chrom deflated.

oOoOo

A week later, Maribelle stood at Lissa’s side as her maid of honor, desperately blinking tears out of her eyes. Across from her, Chrom sobbed openly into his sleeves. Frederick, who was also standing on Robin’s side, surreptitiously passed the leaking prince handkerchiefs embroidered with the Brand. The wedding was beautiful; Lissa was resplendent in royal wedding finery and Robin was positively dashing in his suit. Maribelle was pleased that her best friend had been kind in her choice of the bridesmaids’ attire; she, Sumia, Nowi, and Olivia were all draped in soft lavender chiffon. This was partly due to her outright rejection of Lissa’s first idea to have them all wear petal-gowns in the most garish shade of yellow she could possibly have found. “You’ll look like a row of sunflowers!” Lissa had explained.

Even if it was Lissa’s special day, Maribelle had no intention of looking like a sunflower, especially when…ice flooded her stomach. Donnel had been invited to the wedding and had responded that he would be coming and bringing his mother with him. That meant…somewhere in the audience, he could be looking at her _right this minute_. The thought made her nauseated. She’d purposely kept her eyes straight ahead so she wouldn’t accidentally see him as she walked in the bridal procession down the aisle, clinging onto Chrom’s arm.

The priest was droning on about the sanctity of marriage and the importance of chastity and Maribelle was starting to feel fidgety. She looked at her best friend, who was lost to the world and making dopey eyes at her fiancé. Feeling full of nervous energy, she shot a glance out at the audience in the chapel pews. She recognized the majority of the faces—the Shepherds had all been invited as well as many of the noble families of Ylisse—but she didn’t see _him_. She found Ricken, who had grown a few inches over the past year. He grinned at her shyly when their eyes met.

_Maybe he didn’t come?_ She wondered, right before her eyes passed over a head of curly plum-colored hair. She immediately recognized it and flipped her eyes back to staring at the bride and groom. Moments passed and the priest was still talking in his slow, soporific voice. Nagging curiosity burned in her mind and she flicked her eyes back to where he was sitting. There he was, just like in her memories, though he’d clearly done some growing of his own in her absence. An older woman with graying hair sat beside him, smiling. Maribelle examined her with interest. Donnel had clearly inherited her eyes and the way she held her mouth. So this was the woman she’d wanted to meet so badly…?

She glanced over at Donnel and almost dropped her bouquet when she realized he was staring at her. Blood rose in her cheeks and she jerked her eyes forward again. _Excellent_ , she thought, embarrassed and bitter. She wouldn’t be surprised if her make up melted off with the heat she was putting out. A trickle of sweat ran down her back. Ridiculous. This was ridiculous.

oOoOo

After the wedding was finished, heavy gowns were discarded, and Lissa was safely tucked beside Robin in a coach to head to their honeymoon, Maribelle decided to take a walk in Ylisstol to cool down. The air was soft and sleepy in the streets of the city, though the shops were still alight and thriving off of the festive atmosphere created by the second royal wedding. Maribelle smiled at the shopkeepers as she passed each store. This city was full of good memories—memories of Lissa and the carefree way they used to play on the rare occasions when Emmeryn and Frederick let the princess out of the castle. She always felt safe on these streets.

A familiar figure caught her eye and she looked down the way to see Donnel’s mother chatting animatedly with the owner of a dairy stall. Her heart stuttered and she twisted around to see if Donnel was nearby, but he was nowhere to be seen. A nostalgic curiosity propelled Maribelle forward until she was in front of the older woman. “Ah, hello,” She said, almost uncharacteristically tripping over her words. “Are you…Donnel’s mother?”

The woman turned and beamed at her. “I sure am! Do ya know my Donny?”

“Yes…we were in the Shepherds together.” What a sad summation of their relationship. “He talked about you often, Mrs…?”

“Oh, my, just call me Mabel,” the woman said. “Any friend of Donny’s is a friend of mine! I recognize you…you were in the weddin’, weren’t ya?”

Maribelle smiled. Mabel’s speech patterns were familiar and bittersweet. “I was, indeed.” She wrung her hands anxiously in her skirts. “Would you happen to…know…where Donnel is?”

“Well, I’ll be durned if he weren’t right here just a hot second ago…” Mabel looked around. “That boy…he’s probably off lookin’ at rings again.”

“Rings?” Maribelle asked, unsure that she’d heard properly.

Mabel nodded. “Yes, he’s been goin’ on an’ on about buyin’ a ring for his girlfriend but he just won’t up and do it! It’s gotten to where I can’t go shoppin’ with him without spendin’ half an hour at every jeweler’s we come across!”

The night air stilled. “Girlfriend?”

“My, yes. I hope you’re not another admirer of his…I hate to disappoint you but his heart is quite set on a gal already.”

All the words in Maribelle’s head melted and slipped out of reach. She’d just been convenient wartime comfort. How absurd of her to think that he wouldn’t have moved on by now. After all, there was almost certainly someone he’d had his eye on back in his village and he was strong now, and handsome…this was only logical. It made perfect sense…so why did it hurt so…so badly?

Mabel sensed the sudden change in atmosphere and immediately went into damage control. “There, there, hon. You’re as pretty as a peach blossom; you’ll find yer man someday and where you least expect it, too! Why, I found mine at a cow market! He was tryin’ to sell me an old heifer for three times what the poor beast was worth and I gave him what for an’ then married him!” She patted Maribelle’s shoulder warmly.

“You-you’re right,” Maribelle gasped, trying to hold back tears. “Thank you, Lady Mabel. I should be on my way. It was a pleasure to meet you.” She curtsied to the woman and hurried away, almost tripping over her own feet in the process.

 Mabel watched her go and frowned. “Poor thing.”

It was only minutes until her son, who was clearly pouting, joined her. “I’m about plumb done with jewelry stores in this city, Ma!” He grumbled.

“Couldn’t find what ya wanted?” his mother asked sympathetically.

“No! Nothin’ was good enough and the ones that were woulda cost half the village! The training corps may be paying my room an’ board but they sure don’t pay me enough to shake a stick at.” He sighed.

Mabel smiled at him, despite his frustration. “You’ll find it and when you do it’ll be perfect. I just know it.” The two turned to walk back toward the castle. “I had to chase off another one of yer admirers while you were gone. I had no idea my little Donny was so popular!”

“Admirer?” Donnel asked skeptically.

“Sure as sugar. She was wonderin’ where she could find you and I told her you were off shoppin’ for pretty things for yer girlfriend and you’d have thought I’d just told her her favorite pig had been made into sausage!”

Donnel groaned. “Ma! I done told you already that Maribelle ain’t my girlfriend.”

“If she ain’t your gal, why are you trying to buy her a ring?”

“Cuz I love her,” Donnel replied. “An’ when I finish the program I’m gonna make her mine. There’s nothin’ I want more in the whole world.”

Mabel sighed and gazed at her son fondly. “Your face lights up like summer fireflies when you talk about her. I hope I get to meet her soon.”

“You will. That’s a promise! I’ve only got a little longer until I graduate.” The soldier put his hands behind his head and wished for a wheat stalk to chew on. “Hang on,” he said softly, partly to his mother, partly to himself, and partly to the woman who haunted his dreams at night.

oOoOo

“You’re late,” Maribelle’s mother said disapprovingly when her daughter finally reappeared. “I was about to send Frederick to search for you.”

Maribelle closed and locked the door of the posh inn suite in which her family was staying for the wedding. “My apologies, mother. I lost my way.”

“Lost your way?”

“Yes, I was…thinking.”

“It must have been deep thoughts to make you forget the streets you played in as a girl,” her mother said suspiciously. “I hope it was about the proposition the Licht family made nearly a season ago.”

Maribelle slowly raised her head. “Actually, yes, I was thinking about it.”

“Oh?” Her mother laid down her reading and focused her full attention on the conversation.

“Though I was most averse to it before, I’ve come to realize my foolishness in delaying the inevitable and…I accept their offer.”

Her mother beamed. “Good girl! This will restore the Lichts' place in society and, more importantly, secure the bonds between our families! Your father will be delighted.”

Maribelle said nothing as she unlaced her street shoes. Finally her mother sighed. “You know, you’ve known Ricken much longer than I knew your father when I married him. He’s a fine young man and he’ll treat you like a princess. He’s been in love with you for years, after all.” She reminded her gently.

“I know,” Maribelle replied, turning her head so her mother couldn’t see her face. “I’m going to bed now. Tell Father of my decision and let me know when the wedding will be so I can tell Lissa when she returns.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When Ricken heard the news of his engagement to Maribelle, he yelled so loudly his magic professor thought he'd been murdered and nearly burned the manor down trying to get to him.
> 
> My excuse for being late with this chapter is that I got engaged and immediately turned into a bride zombie and put all my brain power into freaking out about venues and stuff xD  
> I'm terribly sorry! The next one won't take this long!


	11. XI

**Part XI**

“Remind me again exactly _why_ it was so important that I come to this event?” Maribelle whispered at Lissa from behind an expensive silk fan. The enormous tent in which the ceremony was being held did not ward off the heat from the late summer sun and the noblewoman felt like she was evaporating.

Lissa held up her own feathery fan and whispered back. “This is the annual Knighting Ceremony for the new members of the Ylissean Guard. It’s super prestigious to graduate this training program. You get a court title and everything!”

“Yes, but why should I _care?_ This happens every year.” Maribelle had been baffled when Lissa had written to her, requesting that she accompany her to the event. “Why do YOU care? Robin is neither a knight nor involved with them beyond the occasional spar with knighted Shepherds.”

It might have been the low sun slanting through the brocade curtains, but it seemed like the Princess was avoiding her eyes. “That’s true, but I thought…it’d be fun, you know…I hadn’t seen you in months.” Lissa said, fidgeting with her skirt. “And I thought I told you to come _alone!_ ” She hissed, flicking her eyes meaningfully at Ricken, who was watching the parade of military officers file onto the stage.

Maribelle frowned. “I didn’t invite him. Mother said it would be good for him to get out in society, so he accompanied me.”

“It can’t be helped now,” Lissa muttered. “Look, there’s Frederick!”

Frederick strode down the side aisle, gleaming in his freshly polished armor. “That’s his dress armor,” Robin informed them quietly from the other side of Lissa.

“It looks like his normal armor to me,” Lissa replied.

"No, that’s definitely his dress armor…” Ricken said, grimacing.

Maribelle eyed him curiously. “How can you tell?”

Ricken pointed. “The scrollwork on the gauntlets gives it away. Frederick made me help him polish his entire armor collection once when I was living at the castle…” His pointed face twisted at the memory. “It was terrible…”

Frederick’s deep voice resounded through the tent, interrupting Ricken’s tortured flashbacks. “Welcome, one and all. I know many of you have traveled from the far corners of the halidom to be with us today. We are honored to host you as we celebrate the knighting of Ylisse’s newest members of the Guard.” Applause thundered all around. “Now, if you would give us your full attention, before we begin we will hear from the Exalt himself.” The great knight bowed low and stepped aside.

Chrom took his place and began a very boring speech about the expectations of a Ylissean knight. After he finished, other prominent military heads also gave remarks about fealty, service, and other knightly duties. To Maribelle’s right, Ricken’s head bobbed as he dozed off. She couldn’t blame him; she was starting to fancy a nap herself. She silently grumbled in her mind at Lissa, who she suspected had only invited her because she herself was being forced to attend and misery loves company.

“We will now begin the Knighting Ceremony,” some crusty old general whose name Maribelle didn’t know informed the audience. “As is the custom, we shall begin with the cadet with the highest score achieved during testing. This year we are pleased to have a pupil who placed first in every single examination! He has showed unbelievable aptitude and has inspired us all to reach further for excellence. Donnel Murabito, please kneel before the Exalt!”

Maribelle’s head snapped up and she dropped her fan, which landed noiselessly in her lap. The man who’d rejected her over a year ago stepped up on the wooden stage, dressed handsomely in new armor that suited him well. Maribelle looked hurriedly over at her fiancé, but he was still fast asleep. Her attention thus returned to Donnel, who had taken a knee in front of Chrom. “With this sword I knight thee Sir Donnel, Knight of Ylisse!” The Exalt touched both of Donnel’s shoulders with Falchion before returning the sword to its scabbard. “Rise, Sir Donnel, and face those you’ve pledged to serve!”

Donnel stood and turned to look out over the crowd. The audience cheered raucously, but none were louder than Mabel, who was seated in the front row. The new knight’s face was solemn as he scanned the faces of everyone in attendance. Maribelle’s heart pounded like Feroxi war drums and then seemed to stop when his eyes found her. For a long moment the two stared at each other, then he bowed slightly and exited the stage.

All the noise had awoken Ricken, but the mage was still half in a daze and didn’t seem to know what he’d missed. Maribelle turned to Lissa. “What are you doing?” She asked her best friend in an undertone, all at once desperate to know but terrified to find out.

“Helping a friend,” Lissa quavered, still not making eye contact. “Two friends, actually.”

“Two friends? Have you been talking with Donnel this whole time?” The burn of betrayal corroded Maribelle’s heart like acid. Tears prickled in her eyes, though she wasn’t sure if they were from anger or anguish. “You knew what happened between us. You knew I was engaged to Ricken now!”

Lissa’s face was pained, but she continued to stare straight ahead. “I only ever do what I think will make you happy. Please trust me,” she implored.

Ricken was now eyeing Maribelle with confusion, so she blinked away the tears and stayed silent as the rest of the cadets were knighted. When the last of the trumpets died away and the audience was released, she stood and grasped her fiance’s sleeve. “We should go now,” she said, trying to smile at him and simultaneously keep an eye out for wayward ex-mercenaries who may or may not attempt to speak to her.

Her efforts were thwarted by Lissa, who grabbed Ricken’s other sleeve. “Gosh, Rick, I hear some real famous mages are here all the way from Chon’sin!”

“N-no way!” Ricken replied. “Where?”

Robin, who had apparently been roped into the situation by his wife, put a hand on the young man’s shoulder and steered him away. “I’m not sure if they made it or not, but let’s find out.”

Lissa lingered behind for a moment, finally meeting Maribelle’s angry glare. “Please hear him out,” she pleaded. She looked over her friend’s shoulder, nodded, and then hurried away to follow her husband and Ricken.

There was no doubt in Maribelle’s mind that Donnel was behind her, so it came as no surprise when she slowly turned around to find him waiting for her. “Donnel,” she said stiffly. “I suppose congratulations are in order.”

“Maribelle,” he said seriously, his eyes never leaving her face. “I love you.”

If he’d reached out and slapped her, he couldn’t have dumbfounded her any further. “I-I beg your pardon?” She inquired incredulously.

“I love you,” he repeated. “I’ve loved you since not long after we met.”

“But you told me…a year ago…?!”

“I can explain that!” He said quickly, as if he was dying to get the words out. “Remember the night I kissed you?” How could she not? “I wrote yer Pa a letter an’ told him my intentions to marry you. When we got back to Ylisstol he’d written back an’ said I was out of my mind if I thought I was worthy of marryin’ a noblewoman such as yerself without a title at the very least! Said he’d disown you if you married a lowlife like me. I knew I had to get a title so I could ask for yer hand without shamin’ you and yer whole family so I did! I’m a knight now. I may not have any money yet but I can sure take care of you an’ that’s a promise. I ain’t proud of what I said back then an’ I apologize…it’s just…” he scratched the back of his head sheepishly. “You really caught me off guard by just up an’ tellin’ me you loved me…I was so happy but I knew yer family would make ya cry if I told you how I felt…but I ended up makin’ you cry instead…”

A pleasant, warm numbness was spreading down Maribelle’s body. “What about your girlfriend?” She asked.

“Girlfriend?” Donnel repeated, confused.

“Your mother told me you were ring shopping for your girlfriend in Ylisse.”

Donnel groaned. “Ma! She told you that? No, Maribelle, the gal she was talkin’ about was _you_. I ain’t got eyes for no other woman!”

Maribelle took a step toward him. “Are you telling me the truth this time? No lies?”

“No lies.” He fished in his pocket and pulled out a ring. “I-I got this for you. The…the stone ain’t real but my feelings for you are! Marry me, Maribelle. Marry me and make me the happiest man alive.”

In a daze, Maribelle reached out and took the ring, intending to examine it to stall for time, but Donnel misunderstood her actions as an acceptance of his proposal. As soon as she’d taken the ring, he stepped forward, slipped his arm around her waist, tilted her face up, and kissed her fiercely. His kiss was just like she’d remembered and more. Her hands, which had been limp at her side, began to rise…BAM.

A sudden force ripped Donnel away from her. She stepped back to find that Ricken had punched Donnel in the face and was now positioned between she and him, glowing with righteous fury. “Hands off my fiancée!” He growled, sweeping his arms out to shield her. He’d grown considerably taller than Maribelle, but he was still shorter than Donnel. Even so, he stared the knight down without fear.

A crowd began to form around the trio. Donnel straightened, holding his cheek. He ignored Ricken, however, and looked around him at Maribelle. “Fiancée?”

“That’s right!” Ricken replied. He reached down and grabbed Maribelle’s left hand, pulling it up to where Donnel could see it and the gleaming ring on her fourth finger. “How dare you lay hands on my betrothed?”

The color left Donnel’s face and he continued to stare at the ring. “…Maribelle?” He asked finally.

She wanted to run and hide, but that wasn’t an option. “It…it happened after I spoke with your mother. We’re to be married before the new year.”

“Oh.” Donnel said. Then his face flamed intensely scarlet and he took a step back. “Oh! I’m terribly sorry to both of you—I had no idea. I’ve really…” he trailed off into nervous laughter. Before anyone could reply, he bowed stiffly and disappeared into the crowd.

Ricken snorted in the direction he’d fled. “Good riddance. I hadn’t even noticed he was here or else I would have stayed close to you. I didn’t think he’d…Maribelle?” He finally noticed that his fiancée looked distinctly ill.

“My apologies. I just…I didn’t expect that either.”

Ricken studied Maribelle’s face and frowned a little. He may look young, but blind and ignorant he was not. He knew how she had felt about the former farmhand back during the war. First loves were hard to overcome and could be so painful. He knew.

Oh, how he knew.

Robin and Lissa watched silently as Maribelle accepted Ricken’s proffered arm and followed him out of the reception. The tactician glanced down at his wife and saw that she was shaking. “What have I done?” She whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lissa decided that from then on she would leave the matchmaking to Robin, who was clearly superior at it.  
> "Matchmaking?" He was scandalized when she told him later that evening of her resolve. "I do no such thing!" He said, uttering the single greatest lie ever told in Ylisse.
> 
> Only a couple more chapters to go. Thank you all so much for your comments and for reading!


	12. XII

**XII**

Ricken was waiting when Maribelle stepped into the sunroom. He had been quiet but cheerful on the carriage ride back home, but now, weeks later, his face was distant like he was looking at her from the other side of a mirror. “It’s been a while since you’ve been to my family’s house, hasn’t it?” He asked, stepping forward to take her hands.

“It’s been at least three years,” Maribelle replied, looking around the small conservatory. “It feels…bigger in here than I last remember. Did you expand it?”

“Er, no, we didn’t.” Ricken flushed and, out of habit, reached up to pull down the brim of his mage’s hat. He wasn’t wearing his hat, however, so his hand met with empty air. “The truth is…we ended up selling a lot of our rare flower species to collectors to be able to continue to keep the house. That’s probably why it seems so empty.”

Maribelle grimaced at her own unintended insensitivity. “Perhaps it’s for the better—you can see the view out of the windows even more clearly now.” She gestured to the glass that formed the walls and gently sloping ceiling of the room.

“You can see the best sunsets from here!” Ricken added quickly, pleased at the change in subject. “We used to spend a lot of time in here as kids, especially when it rained.” He looked over at her shyly. “You always loved watching the rain on the glass.”

Memories of their childhood surfaced in Maribelle’s mind and she smiled. “I still enjoy rainy days. Not when we’re marching in them, however.” She scrunched up her nose, remembering many rainy, muddy marches with the Shepherds. “Inside, with a cup of tea is how it should be done.”

“It just so happens that I have taken the liberty of preparing tea for you, using the process that you…painfully…drilled into my head.” He stepped aside and gestured to a table that had thus far gone unnoticed. A teapot in a cozy was placed in the middle of the table, between two teacups and beside a pitcher of cream. Sugar and small cakes were arranged on a cart nearby. “Care to sit for a bit?”

The two sat and filled their teacups silently. Maribelle added cream to hers but pushed the sugar jar towards Ricken. He always took his tea sweet. A breeze rustled the trees on the other side of the glass and Maribelle put her tea down to watch autumn leaves detach from their branches and whirl away in the wind. “The year will be ending soon,” Maribelle murmured, warming her hands on her cup. “I feel like it just started.”

“That’s just what happens when you get older, right?” Ricken said, sipping his own cavity-inducing tea. “Time feels like it’s twice as fast.”

Maribelle laughed and looked at him critically. “Since when did you start talking like an adult?

Ricken sighed heavily and put down his cup. “I’ve _been_ an adult for three years now.”

“I know,” Maribelle replied, smiling wickedly. “I enjoy your reactions when I tease you.”           

The redheaded mage made to pick up his cup again, but seemed to think better of it and dropped his hands to the table again. “I invited you here for a reason.”

“I know that, also.” Maribelle repeated, putting her own cup down.

Ricken squared his shoulders and looked his fiancée in the eyes. “I need to know what you feel for Donnel Murabito.” His face was calm, but his voice shook.

The question wasn’t unexpected, but she hadn’t been prepared to be asked so directly. A minute passed as she stared at her teacup, trying desperately to organize her thoughts. “Donnel…was a precious partner.” That much was true, if understated.

“Do you still love him?”

He hadn’t asked whether she _had_ loved him once upon a time—he was making it clear that he knew that she had, at one point, been in love with him. Ricken was clever. He was, after all, one of the most promising up-and-coming mages not only in Ylisse, but also on the whole continent. She could attempt to lie to him, but the chances of succeeding at fooling him were slim. How could she say the truth, however, in a way that wouldn’t tear him to pieces?

“I don’t know,” she finally answered, still looking at her teacup.

He gazed at her for a moment, and then stood up, unfolding his tall frame from his chair. “Come here, please.” Maribelle stood, bemused, and approached him.

He took her hands again in his and studied them, including the glittering ring on her left hand. “I bought this ring when I was fifteen. Isn’t that ridiculous? I was so sure I was going to marry you that I couldn’t wait any longer.” He laughed a little, but the sound was sad. “As your fiancé…the man to whom you’re promised…I have a request.”

“What might that be?”

“Kiss me, Maribelle. Please.” His hands trembled as they held hers and his eyes were bright. “I need to know. I won’t force you to do it, of course. I want it to come from you because you want to, not because you feel obligated”

Maribelle finally looked at him properly and felt a rush of emotion as she took in the familiarity of his face. Though he’d grown taller, he was still the boy she’d grown up with, sat primly beside at court dinners, danced with at balls, and with whom she’d shared secrets and dreams. Even his smell was nostalgic and comforting. Everything about him was childhood and memories. He’d brushed his hair in preparation for meeting her here. “I don’t feel obligated to kiss you.” She informed him primly. Kiss him she did, however, pulling his face down gently to meet hers.

His kiss was softer and steadier than Donnel’s. Donnel ebbed and flowed passionately like the ocean, but Ricken was like a still pool of clear water. He tasted of tea, sugar, and sorrow. His lips lingered on hers for a fleeting moment before he pulled away. “I appreciate your lie earlier. I know you said it out of kindness.” he murmured. His hands moved to her left hand and he gently but deftly twisted his ring off of her finger. “But I know…I know I’m not who you carry in your heart.”

Tears slipped down Maribelle’s face as she felt her now-empty finger. He was right, surely. She didn’t love him…but if that were true, why was this so painful? “I’m sorry, Ricken. Truly.”

“Me too.” He strode past her, towards the door, but turned around before he reached it. “I love you, Maribelle. I have for a long time and…I hope someday I won’t anymore.” He smiled thinly, opening the door. “I’ll see you around.”

oOoOoOo

The road between Maribelle’s town and Donnel’s village was scenic enough, but the war cleric was so full of nerves that she enjoyed little of it. She stopped at an inn overnight and was horrified to discover that, in her haste to leave before her parents caught wind of the broken proposal, she’d forgotten to pack a hairbrush, pajamas, or even a change of socks. She stood, staring at the inn bed, frozen between the two equally horrendous options of sullying the bed with her dusty traveling clothes and sleeping all but nude. _Cleanliness is next to godliness_ , she thought, so in the end she shed her garments and climbed gingerly between the sheets for a restless night’s sleep. When she awoke the next morning, she was glad the inn room had no mirrors, for she had nothing with which to fix her hair and she could feel the tangles beneath her fingers.

Once she was back in the coach, she opened her satchel and carefully extracted a small leather pouch from a pocket sewn on the inside. She rubbed her thumbs on the soft leather and could feel the outlines of its contents: the ring she’d so carelessly taken from Donnel’s fingers at the knighting ceremony. Guilt pooled in her stomach. Not only had her then-fiancé punched the poor boy in the face, she’d then absconded with his dearly bought ring as well. What must he think of her?

She shook the ring out of the pouch and into her palm. It was gold with one stone in a simple setting. He’d said the stone was fake, but she couldn’t tell. She twiddled the piece of jewelry between her fingers. Fake diamonds, real diamonds…it didn’t matter. Ricken’s ring had jewels crusted all the way around the band, but the one she held now was infinitely prettier because it was from Donnel and it was solid, tangible proof that she hadn’t dreamt it all. She wasn’t wartime comfort. She wasn’t a mistake. He loved her…or at least had at one point.

The ring slid on her finger easily and she scrutinized it as if it might speak to her. Had Donnel’s feelings changed in the week since the fiasco at the ceremony? Would he still want her after all of this?

She clenched her fist. It didn’t matter. She had given up once and look where that got her. This time there would be no misunderstandings or mistakes. If he was truly done with her…then despite her parents’ objections, she just wouldn’t marry at all—ever. She was enough on her own, after all. She would…go to law school and become a magistrate and right all the wrongs in the world and…she loosened her grip on the ring. She didn’t _need_ Donnel…but she wanted him by her side so badly. All the victories in the world were hollow if she couldn’t share them with him.

Rain from a cloudburst pounded on the roof of the carriage. Maribelle twisted her head to look out the window and saw farmsteads passing in the distance. They had crossed onto a small island to the southeast of Ylisstol and were into the smattering of small villages now. Donnel’s village must be close.

Her stomach churned and she realized she had no idea what she was going to do when she got to the village. She had a map, but it didn’t show the details of the area and she had no clue which house was Donnel’s or even what part of the village in which he lived. Surely _someone_ would know…she might just need to knock on a few doors until she got the information she needed.

 _SLORP_. The carriage halted with a slurping sound. Weight shifted as the driver swung down from his perch to inspect the wheels. He made a full circle around the coach before opening Maribelle’s door. “Miss, we’ve hit a patch of mud and the weeks are stuck. I hate to ask this, but could you kindly step out?” Rain was still falling steadily, so Maribelle pulled on her cloak and hood before being helped out of the coach. As soon as her feet hit the ground, they sank an inch into the soft mud the rain had produced.

She grimaced. “Where are we?”

“Naught but a stone’s throw from our destination, Miss.” The driver answered, kneeling to begin extricating the vehicle.

A family had emerged from the nearest farmhouse and approached the pair with interest. “These roads ‘round here weren’t made for them thin wheels,” a farmer explained, staring at Maribelle picking her way toward solid ground. “We use big ol’ wooden wheels on our roads ‘cuz the earth is so thick when it rains.”

The driver more or less ignored them as he worked. Two young men from the farm rolled up their sleeves and stepped in to help. Maribelle watched them for a moment, then turned to the farmer. “Pardon me, ma’am,” she said, digging her map out of her bag. “I’m looking for the Murabito family. They should live somewhere around here.” She pointed to the blue dot on her map that signified Donnel’s village. “You wouldn’t happen to know them, would you?”

The other woman’s eyes brightened. “Know them? Sure I do! Everyone knows Donny an’ his mother! He’s the hero that came back from the war and was knighted an’ all!”

“Yes! That’s him! Do you know where he lives?”

“Sure as sugar, I do.” The farmer shielded the map from the rain with her cloak and pointed to a location to the west of the blue dot. “This here’s the village you came through not long ago. My farm is right around...here.” She moved her finger to the right. “One you come into the hayfields you turn right on this here lane. You’ll pass a shepherd’s cottage an’ a little dairy stand. Donny used to sell milk there in the summers. He an’ his mama’s house is the one behind the stone wall. It’s got a yellow door an’ Mabel usually keeps all kinds o’ flowers in the front garden.”

Maribelle repeated the directions to herself quietly and nodded. “Could I walk there from here?”

"Absolutely. It ain’t more’n a hop, skip, an’ a jump. Just be sure to make it before nightfall…winter’s on it’s way an’ nights get cold around here.”

The carriage was still firmly planted in the mud, so Maribelle approached the driver and explained the situation while trying to keep as clean as possible. He agreed and said he’d be staying overnight an Inn a quarter of a mile from the village and to be waiting there by noon if she wanted a ride home, otherwise he would assume she was going to stay. Maribelle agreed and started down the road.

oOoOoOo

Maribelle wasn’t sure what a “hop, skip, an’ a jump” meant to the locals, but it clearly meant something different than what she had anticipated. She’d been slogging through the rain for over an hour and still hadn’t seen any hay. Her shoes were filled with mud and her hood and cloak had long since soaked through. At the brink of despair, she stopped at a small cottage and knocked on the door. A man answered and informed her, with much incredulity, that all the fields around were hay fields but the hay itself had already been harvested and stored for the year. The lane she was seeking, he explained, was two acres east, near a well.

The sun was waning and the rain was chilly by the time she found the lane and located the shepherd’s cottage (easily recognizable due to the occupant’s apparent obsession with all things sheep, both real and decorative). The dairy stand was further still down the path and the sun had all but set by the time she spotted the stone wall and, behind it, a two-story farmhouse with a yellow door.

Though the rain had softened to a sprinkle, Maribelle felt as if she’d been dunked in a lake. Her shoes were undeniably ruined and her long skirts were sodden with earth. As she approached the house, she ran her fingers through her dripping hair in an attempt to make it presentable. All her plans had been dashed. She’d wanted this reunion to be romantically surprising…she’d wanted to dazzle Donnel and sweep him off his feet. She’d wanted to make a good impression on his mother. _I’ll certainly make an impression, all right_ , she thought, hastily wringing water from her cloak. She wiped rain from her face but unknowingly smeared mud from her clothes across her cheeks and nose.

She passed the gate and stood in the front garden, staring at the door of the house. Now that she thought about it, she wasn’t even sure if he was here. She’d assumed he’d go back home for a few weeks after graduation, but he could just as easily still be in Ylisstol and this whole trip would be for naught. Exhaustion and frustration washed over her like an ocean wave and she felt herself begin to panic. Crickets chirped restlessly at her muddy feet and she resisted the urge to stomp around on them in irritation.

One by one, lights began to twinkle from behind the curtained windows of the farmhouse. On the second story, a window flew open and a head of plum-colored hair appeared, leaning out to peer at the sky. “Looks like rain’s ‘bout over with, Ma!” Donnel yelled back into the house. He started to withdraw his head, but noticed his guest and froze. “What in…Maribelle??”

Maribelle gaped at his sudden appearance and lost all semblance of rational thought. “Donnel!” She yelled, pulling a small object out of her sodden bag and hurling it at his face. “Marry me!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See, this is where love gets you--a crazy woman at your door, covered in mud and throwing things at your face. If Donnel had any sense at all he'd shut the window and pretend he didn't see anything.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who had been reading and commenting--you really make my day! Every time I get a new notification I sparkle inside. One more chapter left!  
> Also I JUST GOT SHADOWS OF VALENTIA IN THE MAIL TIME TO PLAY


	13. XIII

XIII

Mabel was sympathetic when Donnel returned to her at the knighting ceremony with an eye that was beginning to puff up from Ricken’s blow. ‘Oh, darlin’,” She sighed, examining the wound. “Did you have any clue this might happen?”

“I…I knew their families were close ‘n all but they were never more’n friends, at least what I saw…” Donnel replied, letting his mother fuss over him a bit. “This is my fault for not talking to her sooner. Of course she’d move on after a year! What an ass I’ve been!” Anger at himself began to overtake the anguish.

“Don’t be too hard on yourself,” Mabel murmured, smoothing his hair. “You took a chance and, sure, made some mistakes an’ it didn’t pan out. These things happen. Sometimes you get the bear an’ sometimes the bear gets you.”

She had a point, but he didn’t want to hear it right now. This wasn’t some misfortune or minor inconvenience—this was the woman he wanted to spend his life with. The thought of her in Ricken’s spindly mage arms… Donnel shuddered, conveniently ignoring how spindly his own arms had been when he first joined the shepherds. This wasn’t right. Nothing about this was right, but he could think of no solutions save begging her to reconsider, and that just wouldn't do. He had his pride. Plenty of pride and no Maribelle.  

The other knights, upon seeing his injury and hearing his tale, jumped on the opportunity to take the mickey out of their valedictorian classmate. This was the break they’d been looking for—Donnel was strong, smart, and driven, sure, but he apparently couldn’t hold down a relationship. He was human! They teased him mercilessly until Frederick strode up and ordered them all to stop chittering like concussed squirrels and embarrassing the Halidom.

 Stahl and Sully often hung around the new recruits and overheard the goings-on. They stopped Donnel on his way out of the tent. “We saw what happened with that mage kid and Maribelle and we just wanted to say…” Sully scrunched up her face, searching for words. “Gods, I’m useless at this emotional shit. Stahl?”

The green clad knight nodded and dug around in his pack. “I have a ham sandwich. Food always makes me feel better. You want it?” He offered the food item to Donnel.

“There’s a bite taken out of it, you viridian arse!” Sully chided, swatting the sandwich away. “You’re more useless than I am!”

Stahl grimaced. “Sorry; I was hungry earlier.”

“I’m alright,” Donnel assured the two. “I ‘ppreciate y’all, though. Ain’t no one to blame here but me.”

“Don't assume everything is lost forever,” Stahl advised through a mouthful of ham. “You never know how things will turn out.”

Sully threw her partner a disgusted look before half-smiling at the new knight. “Chin up, kid. You got a lot of life ahead.”

oOoOoOo

The new class of knights was granted a month’s reprieve before they were required to return to Ylisstol for duty, so Donnel accompanied his mother home. Upon his arrival, the village threw a potluck in his honor, but his joy was like a candle hidden behind smoked glass. He’d planned on using this opportunity to introduce Maribelle to the people he’d grown up with. The women near his age in the village and those surrounding were thrilled, however, and eager to have a shot at the hero.

Maidens (and men) plied him with drinks, eager to hear tales of war and glory. He decided to try “drinking his sorrows away” and ended up wildly intoxicated with a girl in his lap and two at his side squabbling over who was there first. The lap girl stopped their argument by laying a big kiss brazenly on the coveted knight’s lips and inciting a slap fight. Donnel immediately told them all to get lost and stumbled home to sleep off the booze. The next morning he awoke to a nasty headache, a sore stomach, and a village full of grumpy neighbors nursing hangovers of their own. Heroes were less interesting when sober in the light of day.

Two weeks passed and the pain persisted. He busied himself with chores and work, trying hard not to feel. Mabel watched her son and worried. “When do you go back to the capital, darlin’?”

“It’ll be another fortnight,” he replied, shelling peas while he talked. “I hope the weather gets kinder or travelin’ back’ll be a right pain in the hide.”

“The rain’s good for the last of the crops. Keep an eye on the window, would you? Let me know when I can hang the laundry back out.” Mabel pulled out her sewing kit to fix a tear in one of Donnel’s old sweaters.

Donnel nodded and continued his work until the pounding of the rain on the roof had softened to a tinkle. He pulled aside the curtains, opened the window, and stuck his head out to examine the sky. “Looks like the rain’s ‘bout over with, Ma!” He twisted around to pull his head back, but stopped at the sight of someone standing in the yard like a sodden scarecrow. Someone with snarled ringlets tied up with bows and dressed in an expensive-looking but filthy dress and cloak…someone that looked a lot like… “What in…Maribelle??” Donnel gasped, almost falling out of the window in surprise.

The figure lifted its face, confirming its identity. Maribelle dropped to her knees and produced from her bag a small object, which she proceeded to throw as hard as she could at his head while hollering. “—me!”

 The object caught Donnel smartly on the temple and he yelped, staggering back. The thing plinked to the floor and he took a good look at it while rubbing his stinging head. It was a ring, but it was neither the one he’d bought for Maribelle, nor the fancy one she’d worn at the knighting ceremony. The ring was gold with a thin circle of polished wood running the circumference. He picked it up, bewildered. What was that woman playing at?

By now, Mabel had ceased sewing and was watching him in concern. “Who are you yellin’ at?”

Donnel ignored her and stuck his head back out the window. “What in tarnation is this?” He demanded, holding up the ring.

Maribelle huffed and stamped her foot, splashing mud further up her stockings. “Exactly what it looks like!”

“What are you throwin’ rings at me for?”

“Did you not hear me the first time?” She asked, exasperated. When he shook his head, she scowled and flushed. “I-I asked you to marry me!”

 Donnel withdrew his head and slammed the window shut, rattling the glass. Brushing off his mother’s confused questions, he scrambled down the wooden stairs and flung open the front door. Maribelle was even more bedraggled up close—she was utterly soaked, spattered with earth, and looked as if she hadn’t slept of combed her hair in days. She was the dirtiest she’d ever been—even filthier than after battles. She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

 He was convinced she was a fever dream until she chastised him. “Honestly…making a lady repeat herself…” she scolded, slowly sinking in the mud of the front lawn. No, this was Maribelle for sure.

The rain was still spitting, but Donnel didn’t mind. He walked over to her and looked up up and down once before pulling her into his arms. Her shoes made a sucking sound as they were pulled out of the mud. She protested weakly about getting him muddy, but he squeezed her tighter. “What about Ricken?”

“I broke it off.” Her voice was muffled against his chest. “…I thought you didn’t want me.”

“That was never true. Not once. I’m sorry I lied to you.”

She sniffled and brought her arms up around his back. “I missed you so much…!”

“I missed you too,” He replied. “Marry me, Maribelle.” He pulled away from her and knelt in the mud. “I’m askin’ you again, though I don’t know where the ring I bought you went.”

She stuck her left hand out and showed him that she was already wearing it. “I said yes a long time ago, you silly man.” She was both laughing and crying and Donnel was, too.

“And your parents?”

“Their bark is much worse than their bite, believe me. And if not, hang them! I love you and that’s that!”

Donnel used his sleeve to wipe mud off her face. “Golly, I’m glad to see you. I love you so much…I don’t reckon I could live without you!” He pulled her close again and kissed her, gently, then deeply. She as sunshine and summer and ginger spice and fresh, clean air. She was life, or most of what mattered in it.

“ _I_ could live without this mud,” she confessed in response, resting her forehead against his neck.

He laughed and pulled her towards the house where his mother was waiting breathlessly in the doorway. “Let’s get you inside an’ cleaned up. You’ve traveled a long way an’ there’s folks I want you to meet.”

 

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Mabel recognized Maribelle as the girl from a year ago, but wisely chose not to mention their first meeting to her son until years later.
> 
> Thank you all so much for sticking with me and reading this story. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it!
> 
> Stay tuned for a wee epilogue!


	14. Epilogue

EPILOGUE

 Maribelle stared at Lissa’s son, Owain, who was vigorously thumping the backs of his cousins, Lucina and Inigo. These kids from the future were beyond belief…and all a little strange. Owain was the newest and most colorful character yet and Maribelle could easily see her best friend’s influence in his personality. The boy had inherited Robin’s bright white hair but Lissa’s flair for the dramatic.

Beside her, Donnel tucked an arm around her waist. “Y’think we have a kid in the future? We’re married ‘n all.”

Maribelle blushed. “I-I see no reason why not.”

“What d’you think they’re like?”

“Well, they have excellent breeding and tutelage so they’ll have impeccable manners and be very accomplished, of course.” Maribelle asserted confidently. “I have no doubt he or she will be intelligent. Probably very strong, too, like their father. Oh, dispense with that bovine expression!”

Donnel was grinning in a dopey, happy way. “Aw, it don’t matter. We’ll love ‘em anyhow they turn out.”

"Naturally. I have one rule, however.”

“What’s that, darlin’?”

“Under no circumstances will our child adopt your boorish manner of speech! The grammar lessons will start early! The words ‘ma’, ‘pa’, ‘ain’t’, and ‘y’all’ are expressly forbidden!”

Donnel shook his head, laughing. “Whatever you say.”

oOoOoOo

On the outskirts of a village, a tall, lanky boy with plum hair and a scar over his eye rushed towards Maribelle with his arms outstretched. “MAW!” He greeted her.

Maribelle flinched. “Oh, for Naga’s sake…”

 

THE ACTUAL END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Donnel slunk away and hid in the weapons shed as soon as he heard his son’s speech.
> 
> This is the actual end, so thank you all again for reading! I’d love it if you’d leave me a review and let me know how you enjoyed it! I so enjoy reading each and every one of your comments--they make my life shiny :) I wish I could hug all of you!  
> I hope to see you all again in future works~
> 
> SophMi


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